


Hot Pink

by Samsara



Series: Sparks [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Android Uprising, Androids, Artificial Intelligence, Dystopia, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Memory Loss, Military Science Fiction, Multi, Pandemics, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, Robot/Human Relationships, Secret Organizations, Theoretical Science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 90,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsara/pseuds/Samsara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mankind is dying out, thanks to a virus that instantly weakens the immune system. The only way to survive after catching the virus is for ones entire identity to be compressed into data and transferred into an artificial host, an android if you will, but everyone knows these people as Synthetics.</p><p>Iwaizumi Hajime is a borderline-celebrity in the field in which he is finishing his Masters, Synthetic Humanoid Ethics, when he finally proposes to long-time Synthetic boyfriend Oikawa Tooru. Known nearly worldwide for his stance on Organic and Synthetic human relationships, somehow, he's upset the wrong person and everything is crashing down on him. He doesn't know how or why this is happening, but in a world where humans are slowly dying and being replaced by the artificial, Iwaizumi may have an android uprising on his hands. And it may or may not have been something he said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. #8edbcb

**Author's Note:**

> I recently removed a lot of the characters from my description simply because so many of them are fleeting in appearance or come and go throughout. A list of characters that appear on and off are as follows: Hinata, Yachi, Kuroo, Daichi, Ennoshita, Yaku, Lev, Goshiki, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi. (Soon to be added: Futakuchi, Yahaba, Kyoutani, Kindaichi, Fukunaga, Yamamoto, Koganegawa, Aone, Kamasaki, Kawanishi, Reon, Yamagata, Nishinoya, Asahi, Tanaka and Kiyoko. These characters may or may not show up in the finished document, but rather in planned side stories).
> 
> But that being said, I am so so so so so honored to have as many fantastic readers as I do. I never expected this fic to get as big as it did, and as the days go by more and more new readers keep coming to check it out and I actually get asks on Tumblr about it now. So seriously, thank you so much to everyone for supporting me and reading my work. And to those who subscribe not only to the fic but to my writing in general, you mean the world to me and I'm so happy to have you.
> 
> As always, my tumblr is: semi-eita  
> And my twitter is semieitas  
> You're more than welcome to follow me, I scream about this fic a lot. 
> 
> Much love, Samsara.

Humans had become weak. A feeble, slowly dying breed that needed to be preserved. Somehow. It was because of this human beings began experimenting with the idea of life transfers. At first indication of threatening sickness humans were hooked to electrodes and placed under a scanner to record all brain activity. All talents, skills, memories and everything that made someone who they were would gradually be recorded to a server, and ultimately uploaded to individualized hard drives in order to prepare the human body for the transfer.

A transfer occurs when a human being must have their identity uploaded to a synthetic body. Almost nearly identical to a human being in every way, but artificial, but the life within the body would simply be converted into data. The human in question would be rendered comatose for a transfer, only to wake up in a new body free of any ailments.

 

The only sign of the transfer being the brilliantly colored circuits visible on their skin that would flicker with light upon strong surges of emotions.

 

The perfect android.

 

It wasn't uncommon for people to find it necessary to transfer someone at a young age. After all, children were particularly susceptible to the virus that had taken the globe hostage. It was hard to detect but it would quickly cause the immune system to weaken and within only a few weeks made the person vulnerable to various diseases leading to expiration within only a few months. Mankind had to quickly work to perfect the idea of condensing human lives into data once this virus appeared. It took roughly ten years before they could finally announce the first successful transfer of a human life into a synthetic body. His name was Ushijima Wakatoshi, a successful transfer of the son of one of the leading engineers of the time. He'd become stricken with the virus, and after many unfortunate instances of subjects passing away while transferring, the public had become wary to accept the terms of being a human guinea pig for this attempt at preserving human life.

 

Most people had resigned to the fate of mankind’s extinction within the next century or so. People were getting sick left and right and there was only so much medicine could do to prevent the disease from becoming too unmanageable. Some people lived with the virus but with a very weak body only to pass away  some time into early adulthood.

 

Ushijima Wakatoshi had become an inspiration for humanity. He'd volunteered when no one else would, and as the first successful transfer of a human life into an artificial body, he became a household name. Ushiwaka, as he had been referred to affectionately by television personnel and the public alike, was a miracle to humanity. Not only was he alive but he was humble. He wasn't bragging about his extended life, and his second chance to live after contracting the deadly virus. He was polite and thankful to everyone who had supported him.

 

At first, the transfer came with a hefty price tag. The synthetic bodies and the data conversion had a high cost and very few people could afford it. Of course there were always the people who were willing to be test subjects -- afflicted with the virus and desperate for a transfer but without the chance to pay the fee. The more test subjects  the more likely the chance for affordable transfers.

 

Within five years, transfers became somewhat affordable. Enough that with some budgeting the average joe could afford it (budgeting as in living on ramen noodles for several months before the transfer). With more and more people investing in transfers for themselves or loved ones, the demand for workers in the field skyrocketed, making Artificial-Organic Data Sciences the most popular field of study in universities worldwide.

 

It was also within these five years that it was revealed that Ushijima Wakatoshi had not, in fact, been a successful transfer. There had been no sign of whether it had been from the start or not, but his memories had not been successfully uploaded to the synthetic lifeform. In interviews, he only stated that he was sure this was his personality and nothing more. He could not speak about whether or not the scientists responsible for his transfer knew about this fluke.

 

Shortly after the interview, Ushijima Wakatoshi vanished.

 

Maybe it had been coincidence, or maybe it had been planned this way, but shortly after the disappearance of Ushijima Wakatoshi, the cost of synthetic human transfers began to drop dramatically. It was not but a year later that transfers began to cost less than that of a used car.

Synthetic Human transfers had become a hot topic worldwide. Not just in their native Japan, but everywhere. Special cafes and events began cropping up for people who had successfully been transferred. Forums for these androids to meet and share their experience became commonplace on the internet. Naturally, as with anything that was considered an opposition to the norm, hate groups appeared to protest the very existence of these transferred individuals.

 

Some claimed it was against the will of god. Others claimed that this was the lead to a mechanical uprising. Others suggested that the androids were just a cruel joke and were nothing more than robots who weren't even aware they were robots.

 

But no matter the resistance, human beings continued to seek out a way to preserve the lives of themselves and others through the process of synthetic transfers. Within ten years of the first "successful" (now debunked as a fraud) transfer, mankind could claim they had perfected the art of the transfer and now one in three human beings were currently utilizing a synthetic body which would grow with them, while their organic body remained in cryogenic sleep until such a time where a vaccine for the virus could be found. At such a time anyone who wished be placed back in their organic body would have the option to do so.

 

"And now, with so many advances in this field, it is no surprise that we're coming to an age where the synthetic human is nearly identical to that of an organic one. We've come to an era where the only thing differentiating a human from its synthetic counterpart is that of the bioluminescent circuitry, here as Japan's leading authority on the Artificial Circulatory System, allow me to introduce a man who needs no introduction --"

  


As Iwaizumi Hajime introduced one of the speakers -- whom he had never met personally, but he was still honored to introduce nevertheless, he took a breath and examined the crowd before him. He was finishing his Masters' in Synthetic Human Ethics and he'd been perfecting his introductory speech for this man for weeks to the point that he'd been run ragged. Surely if he'd been stricken with Wakatoshi Syndrome (the street name for the rather complicated name of the virus) he would've perished from how much work he'd been doing. Taking his seat finally, his fingers wrapped around those belonging to another, attached to a wrist glowing with aqua circuits that pulsed slowly in the warm light of the auditorium.

 

Passing a glance to the individual, Iwaizumi smiled at him. His boyfriend of seven years and one of the first successful transfers of a human into one of the aging models of synthetic human, Oikawa Tooru, joined him everywhere he went. Whether it was to an ethics convention or a family trip to one of the beaches that had yet to be blocked off from the slowly creeping in oil tides that had swept in from somewhere up north after a pipeline split.

 

"You stammered a bit~" Oikawa whispered to him softly as he returned the squeeze of his hand. "But only in your discussion of Ushi-chan's admission. Otherwise you did wonderfully!" With an affectionate but firm nudge of his elbow, Iwaizumi took the hint and shushed him. There was a lecture on stage and they had to behave.

 

At the age of twenty-six, Iwaizumi Hajime had spent his entire life with Oikawa Tooru. Even when Oikawa had been transferred to an artificial body during his childhood, he never left his side. They had been close as children and through their teenage years and early adulthood, resulting in a romantic relationship blossoming between them sometime at the end of high school. Oikawa had contracted Wakatoshi Syndrome when he was little but it never stopped their friendship from becoming something more. It was this very friendship turned relationship that had put the two of them on the frontlines of advocating for equal rights for human-synthetic relationships.

 

In a way, Iwaizumi had become something of a celebrity in the ethical community, even though he had yet to finish his degree. But with an undergraduate degree in Synthetic Human Psychology and Sociology already under his belt at the beginning of this era, he had become one of those individuals within the community to keep an eye on.

 

Something of a celebrity was an understatement.

 

Iwaizumi at one point had begun to pop up in young scientist and ethicist journals with photos of him, deeming him one of the hottest young bachelors of the Synthetic Ethical Community. He'd become a popular individual and had to arrange for a press conference to come clean about something. He was not a bachelor by no means. He had been in a committed relationship for several years with a male synthetic human and he did not see any likelihood of that changing any time soon.

 

" _So who is this young man you're involved with?_ " was one of the questions to which Iwaizumi begrudgingly beckoned to Oikawa off stage and brought him out.

 

" _This is him._ " he announced to the crowd. " _The love of my life since I was a teenager. I almost feel bad for Ushijima Wakatoshi. Not getting to know how great it is to have someone. He must have had a lonely life. Luckily for Oikawa, he won't have to live a lonely one with me around._ "

 

It was a rare public display of affection for Iwaizumi. But it was the best method of making sure his message got across to the masses. He was not single. He was not an eligible bachelor. He was not even heterosexual. He was in love with someone, and that someone happened to be synthetic.

 

" _What color's your circuitry?_ " someone chimed up, and suddenly Oikawa was in the spotlight. A chance for Iwaizumi to step away and take a breather as he allowed his lover to shine in the limelight with cyan circuits glowing for the interviewers to see.

 

" _How long have you been together?_ "

 

Long enough for present day Iwaizumi to be positive about the small velvet box tucked away inside his jacket pocket.  It had been something Iwaizumi had been planning on for several months. For a period of time marriage between an organic and synthetic human had been outlawed, due to the grounds of the union being unnatural. It was that entire homosexual marriage ordeal all over again, but only several centuries later and at this point all opposition had been grasping at straws.

 

It had been an agonizing ordeal for Iwaizumi to get enough time to search for an engagement ring amidst his preparation for this speech on top of finishing his final weeks of his Masters' Degree. Very seldom did he have time when he wasn't working to himself as Oikawa had been very doting, constantly checking in on him to be sure that he was taking care of himself. They had been living with one another for about three years and their apartment had been costing more than they anticipated. With Iwaizumi working on top of going to school and Oikawa working part time at one of the Synthetic Cyber Cafes, they often made ends meet with only a small amount remaining for savings and personal expenses. If Iwaizumi were to contract Wakatoshi Syndrome, there wouldn't be enough money to transfer him. Not right away at least.

 

Iwaizumi had heard the speech being declared before several times during rehearsal for the event, so he had opted to only half pay attention. It was something about an experiment being conducted where different color hex codes could be uploaded into a synthetic overnight that would allow their circuitry to change on a daily basis. Not necessarily groundbreaking, but circuit colors were something worth note among the synthetic community. There was some running joke that no one should ever mess with any android whose circuits were a shade of pink. The reasoning was only grounded in many pink circuited individuals having fiery tempers, and nothing more. There had been studies suggesting that perhaps the hex codes for various shades of pink caused some sort of temporal glitch, but it was only a theory. Whispers through the grapevine rumored at the possibility it was a data glitch caused by Ushijima's failure as a transfer as his circuits had been pink.

 

Oikawa's circuits had been a lovely shade of light blue. The kind that always looked welcoming in dark spaces. Whenever he wore long sleeves and was having a particularly nice night with Iwaizumi, he'd always notice how the light brightened and shone through the fabric. Even when Iwaizumi would say something harsh (of course this was never meant to be said cruelly) they would flicker rapidly like a panic-stricken heartbeat. And later when Iwaizumi and Oikawa would lay in bed, the reflection of Oikawa's circuits on his cheeks as he kissed his wrists or along his neck affectionately would be enough to stop the earth from turning.

 

He had always loved that color, and sometimes he wondered if that was why they were that color in the first place.

 

Synthetic humans did not choose their color circuit. At least not instantly. It was always a subconscious desire. Many synthetics would have dull grey circuits to mimic the look of veins to better pass as organic humans, but he'd always found the glow of the artificial circulation lovely. Especially on Oikawa.

 

With the roar of applause, Iwaizumi was on his feet, offering a standing ovation with a few of the other people in the audience in celebration for the content shared with the crowd. It was only a moment or two of clapping before the stage dimmed and the assembly was over, and he was holding out Oikawa's jacket for him to slip back on.

 

"Well that certainly was informative," he chimed as he began to fasten the buttons of his suit, now facing Iwaizumi who had started to straighten his tie. "I should change my circuit color sometime."

 

"Don't." Iwaizumi said with a grunt as his hands fell from Oikawa's tie -- he had matched it to his circuits too. "I mean, I like the color they are." A brow raised and the slightest hue of the teal flashed through the circuits beneath the flesh of Oikawa's cheeks before it dissipated.

 

"Mm, Iwa-chan must really love my color, doesn't he?" He gaze fell toward the floor, focused on a slight scuff of white on his freshly polished loafers.

 

"I love _you_ , dumbass." Iwaizumi said as he adjusted his suit jacket around his shoulders and extended a hand toward his boyfriend to lace their fingers together once again. Oikawa began to chime excitedly to hear his lover say such an affectionate thing but before the words could escape him, their moment of closeness was interrupted by a handful of interviewers, knowing that Iwaizumi was there and that his most recent study on Synthetic Human Ethics had to do with the deletion of memories. It had been a touchy field for him as it felt rather personal given his relationship but with a sudden bombardment of questions (to which he had answers for) he couldn't decline easily.

 

" _Iwaizumi-san, what is your stance on a synthetic human deleting the data on their memory harddrive to forget another individual. Say, in the event of a break-up or divorce?_ "

 

It was a horrible question to ask him, especially with that ring weighing so heavily in his pocket. He normally would answer. But this was hardly the time. Hardly the emotional state of mind. With Oikawa's hand still held firmly within his own, his head shook, raising his free hand as his head shook. "I'm declining answering this question right now, I have a date with my partner tonight and I would rather not have this weigh on my conscience _thank you._ "

 

With a turn of his hell and a slight tug of Oikawa's arm, Iwaizumi began to stride away from the group only for the slow stride to turn into a sprint as the two of them began to dart through the crowded auditorium to make it outside before becoming assaulted with further questioning. It had been a hot button issue as of late: Is it acceptable for a Synthetic to delete their memory banks of individuals after unpleasant experiences? Or was it considered unethical to others to strip them of relationships against their will? It was today's abortion debate and Iwaizumi happened to have said in a recent interview he would be announcing his position on the topic relatively soon. He did not realize that soon would invite reporters from all over to hound him on a nearly daily basis.

 

Free from the crowds Iwaizumi slipped into the coat room to snatch his and Oikawa's outerwear briefly before they made their way outside. Now late in the evening and growing cool due to an oncoming autumn rain that had already brushed through once, Iwaizumi put an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders as they walked through the still active sidewalks. He was in no mood to deal with crowds or annoying news officials or anyone who might want to get a quote from him.

"Iwa-chan seemed popular tonight." Oikawa sighed, seeming a little dejected from the sudden rush through the people of the theater. "Everyone seems to want his attention, and everyone gets it but me."

 

It was an obvious rouse to get Iwaizumi going, which he bought into by barking, somewhat frustrated. "Tooru, I just blew all of them off in order to take you out of there. Besides, I have dinner reservations for us." The muffled sound of Oikawa's hands clapping with the fabric of gloves between each palm was his response.

 

"I knew Iwa-chan loved me~!" he cheered nearly bouncing underneath the weight of the students arm. "Where're we going? Hm? HM?" He was noisy, requesting incessantly to know the details. Nights out for them were rare but well, it was a special night already with Iwaizumi's presentation. He would make it nicer for Oikawa whom he already knew was just being polite as he sat through most of that presentation. At least that's what Iwaizumi had assumed.

 

It wasn't the nicest of places, he’d told Oikawa. But it was nice enough that Iwaizumi had made a point of calling in advance to reserve them not only a table but a chilled bottle of Pinot Noir Rose for Oikawa. He was a wine drinker and a fruity wine drinker at that. While a glass of scotch did Iwaizumi just fine, Oikawa was so much pickier. But he would humor his boyfriend tonight and drink his pretentious pink wine while he pampered him for the evening. It had to be the right night,  after all.

 

He may have underestimated the flair of the restaurant to Oikawa when he told him it was only a simple hole in the wall that he'd stumbled upon one day. Upon walking in, greeters took their coats, (with only enough time for Iwaizumi to remove the velvet box from its pocket to slip into his trousers) and proceeded to bring them their first glasses of the Rose before even guiding them to their table. An establishment of burgundy and umber lit by tealites at every table and glowing gold circuits woven into the curtains and the floorboards to give a warmer atmosphere to everything.

 

At their table, the bottle of Pinor Noir Rose sat in a bucket of ice, and as they sat down their glasses were retrieved and set on the metallic cooling coasters on the table to keep their temperature steady. Oikawa's eyes, along with his circuits were shining like stars in the restaurant. Even without the LEDs of the circuits, Oikawa was shimmering bright on his own.

 

There was no doubt in Iwaizumi's mind that he was in love with this idiot across from him. He drove him nuts half the time, but there wasn't a single fiber of his being that didn't adore every second he spent with Oikawa Tooru.

 

The weight of that ring in his pocket was like lead but the moment wasn't there yet. But soon. Soon the ring would be lighter than air and that would be his moment. It did not come quickly. It came slowly with every sip of wine and every mouthful of the meal and every nuance from Oikawa's lips. The moment was coming, as Iwaizumi's mind, similar to the machine that kept Oikawa's life in tact, played back memories like a recording. To days when it was still safe to play in local streams to catch frogs and insects. To skipping class in high school to fully understand what it meant to taste freedom. To resting against the hospital bed as Oikawa woke up after his transfer when he was still a child. It played through his mind, beat by beat, by beat.

He was so in love with Oikawa Tooru.

 

And so as Oikawa rest his hand against Iwaizumi's while sipping his Irish coffee after the meal with his dessert, he found his hand being flipped over. His palm pulsed with the gentle light of his circuits, normally unseen in natural light, but brilliant in the low light of the restaurant. Iwaizumi had only been listening to Oikawa for the past fifteen minutes or so, more entranced by his face and his eyes, and well. Everything about him. Lowering the mug to the table, Oikawa followed Iwaizumi's fingers over his hand, laughing softly.

 

"Are you reading my palm, Hajime?" he asked gently, his voice lacking the normal teasing air that was natural for him.

 

Not looking up from the palm as his finger continued to trace the artificial lines of Oikawa's hands -- perfect replicas of the same lines from Oikawa's organic hands from childhood. His other hand, which had been resting across his lap dipped into his pocket, clutching the velvet box within his fist. "Something like that." Iwaizumi murmured, lingering over the lines, luring Oikawa in closer to examine the process.

 

"What do you see in my future?" he asked, nearly whispering as his free hand reached forward, wrapping around the thick wrist of his lover. Gazing up from Oikawa's hand, he found himself looking directly into his eyes. Still brilliant. Still lovely. Still shimmering as beautifully as they ever had been before.

 

The box was lighter than air. Lighter than helium. The lightest thing that Iwaizumi had ever held. With the box slipping from his pocket, his eyes falling to it instead of the artificial azure of Oikawa's eyes, he plucked the ring -- platinum with blue topaz laid in a trio in an arc at the top-- from its resting place and took Oikawa's hand into his own, delicately sliding the ring upon his finger over each knuckle.

 

"I see you and me together." he muttered softly, lifting Oikawa's hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. He felt his lips quirking into a smile, hearing the faint sniffling of his lover from across the table. Iwaizumi gazed up, a sincere expression of joy on his face as he continued to speak. "For as long as we have on this earth. You and me. Us. Happy."

 

Synthetic humans couldn't cry. They hadn't engineered that yet. But what they could do was create the tiniest sparks of electrical current like their circuits that would run an erratic course over their cheeks like tears. Such sparks were running from Oikawa's eyes as his hand remained limp within Iwaizumi's grasp, hand relinquishing its grasp on Iwaizumi's wrist to cover his mouth. Yet the action to cover his smile was in vain as his lips tugged wide, across his face.

 

"I'd be an idiot to say no, Hajime."

  


They were officially engaged. And somehow word got out before they could even leave the restaurant. Likely someone in the restaurant heard the proposal and saw the tearful Oikawa and snuck a few photos with their phone and uploaded them to the internet. With Oikawa under his arm and Iwaizumi almost protecting him from the sudden explosion of reporters outside the restaurant, they made a straight shot for their home.

 

Home was a one bedroom, five room apartment located in one of the more average parts of their community. It wasn't necessarily a great location, but it wasn't the worst of spots either. It was in their price range and the apartment was cozy for the two of them. Home was all they needed with its work space for Iwaizumi, the bedroom for the both of them, the quaint living room with the single couch, coffee table and television and combination dining room and kitchen. It was all they needed as Iwaizumi and Oikawa locked the door behind them and began to embrace one another, articles of clothing, shoes and accessories alike being discard on the floor as they collapsed in a heap on the bed.

 

With Oikawa in his arms like this, even with the light of his circuits brightening up the bedroom, Iwaizumi couldn't even recall that his now-fiance was artificial. With Oikawa in his arms like this as he held his body close, Oikawa was simply the love of his life. Organic? Synthetic? It didn't matter when his heart felt like it was overflowing with adoration.

 

And no matter how harsh Oikawa grasped his hair, or how much it stung as his lovers nails scraped along his back -- it was very right. It was ideal, really.

 

" _What is your stance on a synthetic human deleting the data on their memory harddrive to forget another individual?_ "

 

He shook off the thought as it dawned on him as he held Oikawa down a moment, fingers lacing together against the dark sheets of their bed, auburn hair wispy and splayed out behind Oikawa's head. He smiled up at Iwaizumi, laughing lightly, smile matching his circuits, positively overjoyed.

 

This was the right decision.

* * *

  


_Almost feel bad. Almost feel bad. Processing. . .__

_Analyzing voice. Sarcasm not detected. Proceeding. . .__

 

"Are you sure about this?" a rather gruff, but unsure voice rang out, royal blue circuitry glowing in the dark space of the laboratory in which he resided.

 

"Positive."

 

A lab, normally void of light grew bright with the stinging light of several monitors with the image of Iwaizumi Hajime on the screen surrounded by reporters, his words ringing out through countless speakers in the lab: " _I almost feel bad for Ushijima Wakatoshi. Not getting to know how great it is to have someone. He must have had a lonely life. Luckily for Oikawa, he won't have to live a lonely one with me around._ " The lines repeated several times before it was isolated to a single sentence: " _I almost feel bad for Ushijima Wakatoshi._ "

 

With a few monitors still replaying the clip of Iwaizumi repeating the line over and over again, a few other flickered to images of the popular Synthetic Ethicist rushing from the restaurant with his fiance. News reports discussing the rumor of Iwaizumi Hajime's supposed engagement to his longterm Synthetic boyfriend Oikawa Tooru began to pop on and off on all the monitors. Each screen began to pulse with an obnoxious shade of pink, nearly painful to look at with the naked eye.

 

Oikawa's face began to grow isolated on several monitors, followed by strings of binary code overlaying his features before a sequence of letters and numbers began to flash at the bottom of every monitor.

 

"Access granted." spoke the nervous voice after a few moments of feverish typing upon a keyboard and a few misplaced clicks. A hesitant sigh as the line of " _I almost feel bad for Ushijima Wakatoshi._ " continued to repeat in the background. "I don't think this is a good idea. I don't think it's a threat."

 

"He is one of the leading names in Synthetic Ethical Research, I am going to take his position and his comment as a threat." spoke the second voice as the figure sat in a wheeled chair, currounded by a semi-circle of monitors, all rotating between the previous cycle of images from before. The same obnoxious pink light radiated from him, an arm raising to grab the arm of the other individual, causing the royal blue to pulse nervously. "Ethics my ass. One second he's studying our kid, the next he mocks us."

 

"Ush--"

 

"The reports say he's engaged to a Synthetic, but he can't even treat one with respect, Tobio. Organic humans don't know how to treat a Synthetic like an equal. We're objects to them."

 

"Don't call me Tobio. It's Kageyama." the royal blue sneered. "You're overreacting. He just got engaged to him, that's nothing to get upset over."

 

" _He_ doesn't _deserve_ that." With a spin of the chair, the figure in it -- positively radiating the saturated pink -- stood, towering over Kageyama with a glower and eyes unnaturally bright for even a synthetic. "He dares call himself an ethicist of our kind, but can't even respect the first of us!"

 

Ushijima Wakatoshi had not vanished. He had not died like many people suspected. But he had become a living corruption. A machine more than a man, a fear believed by many at the invention of Synthetic humans. Ushijima Wakatoshi was a living example of why mankind does not toy with life. Ushijima Wakatoshi was a different syndrome than the one that had been named for him. He was the syndrome seeking to eradicate anyone who claimed they knew anything of the inner workings of the lives of Synthetics.

 

And Iwaizumi had crossed him.

 

"Yeah, well, maybe _I_ don't deserve _this._ " Kageyama sneered as he sat down again resting on a power source that began to strobe the cobalt of his circuits as it began to charge him slowly. "Maybe if I could go and find Hinata and go home --"

 

"I told you." Ushijima snarled. "Hinata is not real. That was one of their tricks at that lab after your transfer to make you believe you were dependent on them. I've shown you that the world out there is not safe for our kind."

 

A snort came from Kageyama as Ushijima began to step away from his chair annoyed with the tone of voice from the other Synthetic in his presence. But with each step, circuits pulled away from a heap at the floor, each of them giving off the same pink glare as the ones embedded in his skin. With a huff, and not wishing to tangle himself up, Ushijima sat back down, eyes closing as he assumed a position which he would refer to himself as the Master Control Panel.

 

It had only been a rumor in the Synthetic Scientific Community but, in an instance like this, one thing rang true.

 

You do _not_ mess with anyone with pink circuits.

 

* * *

  


It was as if everything in the world of Iwaizumi Hajime had suddenly become right. He only had another month or so left til he finished his Masters', he had a fiance who meant the world to him, and on top of that he'd already made his way into the very field of study which he'd been studying.

 

With his arms around Oikawa's torso as he snuggled up against him in bed, he inhaled slowly against his hair, taking in the warm scent of brown sugar. One of Oikawa's favorite scents -- a bit feminine but Iwaizumi would never object to that scent. It was fitting and it made him feel alive inside when he caught a whiff of his lover.

 

"Morning," he whispered softly as he brushed aside some of the hair against Oikawa's ear, kissing gently upon the aquamarine line of circuits. "First day as fiances." He laughed slightly and pressed up against Oikawa again, almost blissful in state of mind.

 

But as he pressed into him, he didn't feel Oikawa stir. Not even the fake pulse of a heart beat, nor the mimicry of breath from his chest. No, something wasn't right at all. Sitting up, letting the blanket slide from him, Iwaizumi gave a tug at Oikawa's wrist, only to find it falling limp against the mattress. A moment of fussing. A moment of panic in his chest. A moment of needing to vomit as Iwaizumi sat Oikawa up, frantically asking: "Oikawa, what's _wrong?!_ "

 

Only for the response to come in an automated tone, nothing like the lyrical chime of Oikawa:

 

" **System Offline.** "

 


	2. #05033E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOH I AM DOING SOMETHING RIGHT AREN'T I?  
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT SO FAR GUYS, I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE ENJOYING THIS!!!  
> I would like to add that I think I am going to be putting this on a scheduled update. Starting next week, this will likely be getting updated every Wednesday. Aiming for chapters to be roughly 5000-7000 words  
> Also this was hastily beta read so I may adjust some things during the next 24 hours!  
> Once more, thank you all so much for your support!

A Synthetic human may, at any given time revert back to factory settings. This, however, is by no means a permanent regression. Factory Settings may sometimes set in when a Synthetic has not rested on its charge station over night (most commonly in the form of beds, futons, couches or chairs). Factory SA Synthetic human may, at any given time revert back to factory settings. Factory Settings will click in, causing the persona installed to revert to a comatose state. For the Synthetic within, it's merely like taking an extended nap without the concern of a snooze alarm rudely interrupting their sleep. But for the people outside, it can be a rather trying situation, as Factory Settings can on occasion be long-term, and ultimately cause damage to the personality inside.

 

For Iwaizumi, who knew for damn sure that Oikawa had not forgotten to charge himself, it was a situation that could only cause extreme distress. Maybe the bed had not been plugged in, or perhaps Oikawa was in a state of emotional overload and had to calm down still. But neither seemed to likely to Iwaizumi. With Oikawa's form seated on the edge of his bed, dressed in simple clothes (a challenge for Iwaizumi as he had to use technical terminology to address the android to move accordingly), he'd begun pacing around their apartment, finding the horrendous squeezing of his chest and the flutters in his gut to be most distracting. He could call people and ask their advice, but after last night it was almost guaranteed that his phones were tapped for the media.

 

He'd have to go out in public. He'd have to take the blank Oikawa with him and act as if there was nothing amiss.

 

The android's eyes weren't the same lovely shade of turquoise that Iwaizumi adored. Sure, they were still matching the glow of the circuits, but they just didn't seem as bright today. Examining the droid as he stood in a sloppily buttoned top and the previous workday's trousers he was at a loss. But he had to go out with him.

 

"Input Command: Boyfriend Mode."

 

"Executing." Came the voice of the droid as the eyes grew glossy, as coding flashed over the irises as he rose to his feed and took Iwaizumi's hands into his own. "I want to make you the happiest girl in the world."

 

With a sputter and a rather disgusted noise, Iwaizumi shook his head, stammering as he adjusted the command. "Override Command 'Boyfriend Mode!' Replace Command: 'Homosexual Boyfriend Mode!'"

The voice adjusted again, but the line repeated still in the automated voice of the android. "I want to make you the happiest boy in the world." the droid spoke, still clasping on to Iwaizumi's hands. It still wasn't right, and thus made him more uncomfortable than anything else.

 

"Forget it. Override Command 'Homosexual Boyfriend Mode', Replace Command: College Student, Status: Laryngitis and Exhausted." He let the hands of the Synthetic human remain wrapped around his. The shimmer of the blue topaz of the engagement ring glinted, reminding Iwaizumi that last night was certainly no dream. "I'll...just take that for now." He said softly, removing the ring from the android's finger, resting it upon the nightstand. "No use in someone who's not you wearing it."

  
  


He bundled up Oikawa in several layers of clothing, placed a medical mask over his face and smudged some of the eyeliner that Oikawa wore on occasion under his eyes to give off the exhausted look. He needed to make it seem as if Oikawa was genuinely sick, needing a routine check-up. Whatever it would take to make sure that the media didn't catch wise of the data fluke.

No sooner did the two of them walk from the apartment did people begin following after them, instantly launching questions. " _Is it true that the two of you are now engaged?" "What kind of ring was it, Oikawa?" "What do you have to say about the supposed rumor that you've been sleeping with your co-worker, Kunimi Akira, Iwaizumi?"_

 

It was all a bunch of bullshit, and he didn't have time for any of it. He was an ethicist, not a celebrity. But in today's world where human rights were entertainment, he was the closest society got nowadays. With the hand of the android -- not Oikawa. Just an android. -- clasped in his own he made sure his legs would carry the both of them as fast as possible. He knew a lab where you had to be in the field to get in. Paparazzi could hang around in the lobby but they couldn't get past the walls of scanners and security droids. Not even if they wanted to.

 

The best lab he knew to go to was that of Fukurodani.  A colleague of his -- both during his undergrad and graduate program -- had already made a name for himself here, considered to be the single best in his field when it came to programming. Of course, at only twenty-five, people were often skeptical, but his work was top notch. On seldom occurrence there would be a glitch but nothing more than a speech fluke which could be patched up if he were to be left alone for an evening to tamper with it. The work of Akaashi Keiji was quick, skillful and above all: professional.

 

In the stark white of the Fukurodani lab's lobby, surrounded by its ebony leather furniture, accented with gold embellishments, a cluster of photographers could be seen snapping images of Iwaizumi as he entered in with his supposedly ill fiance. They murmured questions, trying to rouse an answer from the ethicist, but they fell upon deaf ears. In a macabre sort of way, he was nearly thankful that Oikawa was void of his data at the moment. What would he even say to the bombardment of questions anyways? " _Oh! I thought Iwa-chan was moving too fast, so I decided to tease him by going into permanent sleep mode! Hehe~!_ " Ugh, if that's what Oikawa was doing, he was going to be hearing words later for it.

 

"State your name and business." Spoke the automated voice of one of the security drones. Security drones were rarely transferred humans. Maybe a handful overseeing their work were, but on most occasions they were simply robotic in nature with artificial intelligence installed in order to differentiate between organic and Synthetic alike.

 

"Iwaizumi Hajime," he began fishing into his trouser pocket to retrieve his name tag from his own facility. "Aoba Johsai Ethical Center." he revealed his name tag up to the drone whose eyes glowed a blinding red a moment, scanning the barcode at the bottom of the plastic tag bearing Iwaizumi's face. The head of the drone twisted, focusing on Oikawa. "Oh, uh. He had a bit of a --" A cough escaped him, eyes just faintly panic stricken as he gazed back to the cluster of reporters and paparazzi. "Virus. I need to run professional diagnostic---"

 

The voice of the drone rung out loudly, a screeching noise that almost sounded as if an alarm had been pulled. Upon scanning the blue of Oikawa's visible circuits (without Iwaizumi's consent to do so. Even drones needed permission), it had found something and began wailing. "Security breach! Subject has indeterminate data! Please remove subject from the premecis! Please remove subject from the premecis!"

 

A light began to flash in the center of the lobby as a few doors beyond the security station began to open as curious personnel peeked their head out to see what the commotion was. A number of individuals began to crowd closer and the flashes of cameras began to go off and most likely -- so did tape recorders, documenting the incident on hand.

 

"He just had a slight data malfunction! That's why I'm here--!"

 

It was illegal to bring a blank Synthetic into a lab without proper clearance. It had been law for almost a decade, as people had begun to find ways to obtain artificial bodies while bypassing the required waitlist. People would attempt to smuggle in the bodies to labs and perform an illegal transfer, allowing them to skip the high fees of both obtaining the android, as well as data extraction. To bring a blank Synthetic into a lab was on par with fraud and embezzling.

And so as the security droid scanned Oikawa and found he was lacking any sort of identification, it was cause for alarm. The blank droid was a hazard -- not only could there be the potential for an illegal transfer, but he could also be uploaded with any of the confidential information that happened to be located on any of the Fukurodani servers, including encrypted data.

 

Cameras continued to flash and questions began to be tossed at Iwaizumi in the form of a verbal assault while the drone continued to demand that Oikawa be removed from the lab. Several researchers had come out to try and make sense of the situation but to no avail. For a split second, much to Iwaizumi's relief -- the focus was off him. And much thanks to that split second, a rather sleepy eyed young man happened to be passing with a gold and periwinkle circuited droid in tow, observing the situation.

 

A green light flashed on the turnstiles in front of Iwaizumi as he looked up and caught the gaze of the researcher, who was holding an identification card in his hand. With a jerk of his neck, he beckoned Iwaizumi over on the other side of the gate, so with not a second more, Iwaizumi snatched Oikawa's hand and was down the hall after him.

  
  
  


"I heard your introductory speech last night went over very well," came the soft voice of the programmer as he retrieved a pair of glasses from his pocket and slid them on over the bridge of his nose. "Heard your engagement went over well too." Amber eyes glanced up, catching Iwaizumi's gaze as he gestured to a stool in his personal lab to sit down. "But something tells me you're not here to ask me to be your best man. Not with that commotion outside."

 

Off to the side, Bokuto -- Akaashi's long time Synthetic companion (and on occasion, drunken sexual partner) -- had begun scanning Oikawa with heterochromatic eyes to match his dual-colored circuits. His lips began pursing as he examined him, arms crossing as he ultimately leaned back in the spinning chair to lurk in on the conversation between the other two.

 

"You promise you don't have cameras in here, right?" Iwaizumi snorted, glancing around dubiously, cautious due to the many people who were so fascinated with his private life.

 

"If I had cameras in here, our security personnel would be enjoying free sex tapes." his tone was flat, and gaze unfaltering, leaving Iwaizumi unsure as to whether Akaashi was being serious as he turned to face the computer in front of him.

 

Taking that as Akaashi's reassurance that the room wasn't being recorded in any way, Iwaizumi sighed and unfastened the top button of his collar. "I woke up and his system was offline..." he muttered, rather silent about the matter. "We just. We had such a great night last night, y'know? With the speech going over? And dinner and the engagement. What happened?"

 

Not responding immediately, Akaashi had begun to type almost feverishly on his computer, the text blurred from Iwaizumi's line of sight, but clearly something comprehensive as within a minute or so a large paragraph of text and (he supposed) coding was on the screen. "What do you think happened?" Akaashi asked, pushing up the glasses that had since slid to the brim of his nose. Without missing a beat, Bokuto retrieved the glasses from his face along with a tiny screwdriver from a drawer and began tightening them.

 

"Stop letting them get so loose, they'll break~!" Bokuto scolded as he handed them back to Akaashi so he could resume his work.

 

"...Emotional overload?" Iwaizumi said with a shrug. "I know it can happen with some models of droid now and then --"

 

"Not his model." Akaashi observed as he pulled up a general information page on Oikawa's body. "It was the model prior to this that had that glitch." Crooking his index finger over, he pointed to the serial number. "That S3479 right there means that he's running on that system number. It was S3478 and S3477 that had the emotional overload glitch. But that was patched before releasing the S3479 model. It was a real problem with child-growth droids when they first got big. It was causing children to go offline in their droids after a long day. Thankfully no loss of life."

 

"So what is it then?"

 

"Can't say for certain until Bokuto finishes his diagnostic scan -- stop it." He bat a hand backwards to shoo Bokuto away from lurking over his shoulder. "I know you can receive data while standing away from him but keep an eye on him. Last thing we need is a blank walking around with a security breach on our hands." There was a whine from the dual-hued Synthetic but he ultimately plopped himself down in front of Oikawa again and continued running the scan.

 

"That's not a good enough answer, Akaashi." Iwaizumi grunted, leaning back in his seat while Akaashi stepped back and approached a recess in the wall and began to press a few buttons before from the recess popped two mugs, both filled with coffee, one of which he slid to Iwaizumi.

 

"You haven't had any today. I can tell by the way you're snapping." he said. "You couldn't get through undergrad without this in your bloodstream, and you still can't." Grateful, but still frustrated with the lack of direct answer, Iwaizumi took the cup, adding a smart remark about how all the fancy labs get built-in-wall-coffee-makers, and all he got was a jar of instant coffee and an electric kettle.

 

"The answer is we can restore him, Hajime." Using his first name, Akaashi did this only as a means to make his point clear. A sip of the coffee came with the gentle hissing sound of cautious sipping, hesitant to be burned. "What I got instantly from Bokuto's scan so far is that his harddrive has been entirely wiped. Almost scrubbed clean. That's why the drones outside are flipping their shit."

 

Of all things. It wasn't a temporary shut down. It wasn't an emotional overload. It was his hard drive. Somehow, Iwaizumi's lover of nearly ten years had gone and had his harddrive wiped. All recollection. All memories, personality, skills and talents -- every trace of it had been wiped away. The man sitting in the diagnostic chamber a few feet away was not Oikawa Tooru. He was just a blank android with nothing special about him.

 

"But seeing as you don't want to risk any media backlash for this," Akaashi said as he took a less hesitant sip of his coffee -- only to whine and jerk back as he found it too hot to drink right away. "it's going to be a bit annoying for you to do. So I suggest you take my advice."

 

Of course, it wasn't a difficult thing for Iwaizumi to do. He would just need to access the harddrive in the bed he and Oikawa shared. He'd have to pop out the drive and hook it up, extract the data to his personal computer at home, compress the data, convert it to the appropriately sized file and then email it to Akaashi. No big deal.

 

Of course for Iwaizumi who only had a minor focus in programming and likely was having a hard time keeping his emails protected, it was a tedious process. Furthermore, per Akaashi's request, he would not be allowed to leave the center with Oikawa. He'd have to remain there. Both for the comprehensive diagnostics and in order to spare Iwaizumi the trouble of being harassed on the way home. Needless to say, he was still asked why he'd gone in with Oikawa but not out -- to which he simply replied with " _He's got some broken circuits, and the person I trust most to work on them is in this building."_

 

But before any of this Akaashi had one crucial request for Iwaizumi:

 

" _Take the night off. Don't worry about Oikawa. Bokuto and I will take care of him._ "

 

Ugh, it had even been said as if Iwaizumi was more of a parent to Oikawa than a lover, but he supposed it couldn't hurt. A load of stress had been lifted from his shoulders when Akaashi informed him that Oikawa could be restored. And even if the backup harddrive in the bed turned out to be a bust, Akaashi could easily access the model server that backed up every droid and seek out Oikawa's serial number and reinstall his information from there. Of course...that might mean Iwaizumi had to propose to his lover all over again.

 

And so with a glass of Pinot Noir Rose in his hands, Iwaizumi accepted the almost affectionate pats on the back from his few colleagues whom he trusted enough to confide in. Neither of which had been college friends like Akaashi had been but Iwaizumi was around the two enough that there was no need to feel on edge with them around.

 

Sawamura Daichi, twenty-eight, was the go-to man for Synthetic foster children. In the instance of teenagers being transferred to an artificial body, it often was a very dramatic change for parents and children alike. It was rarely performed due to the complex changes caused by puberty but in the past few years there had been a spike in adolescent transfers resulting in more and more conflicts at home. Daichi stepped in when both parent and child agreed that there had been a rift caused by the transfer. Sometimes he would get involved in the case of a runaway or an abandoned child. Lately, homeless Synthetic teens were becoming more and more of a problem and so he had enlisted the help of the Synthetic Ethical Committee in order to oversee that teenage Synthetics were placed into proper homes until they either felt they could return to their own homes, or until they reached an age of maturity and could live on their own.

 

The other individual, Kuroo Tetsurou was the complete opposite side of the spectrum from Iwaizumi and his other colleagues. But in his case, he was closer with Daichi due to his home having been a foster center, leading to him and Daichi forming a friendship over the years. But what made Kuroo so different than the other two was the fact he was a motorist. A professional street biker with a rather impressive number of wins under his belt.  Despite his lifestyle being the complete opposite of Iwaizumis and Daichis, he was oddly enough a great contrast to their lifestyles.

 

"Since when did you start drinking Oikawa's rose wine?" Daichi asked as he sipped a whiskey sour, a brow raised as the trio of them sat in a small booth of this hole in the wall bar that Kuroo had discovered a few weeks prior (where thankfully paparazzi wouldn't follow Iwaizumi). It was old fashioned -- no glow of LEDs in the furniture or walls, all wooden furniture and solid craftsmanship by hand. Nothing modern to the place in the slightest. The only glowing came from the circuits of various people coming into the establishment.

 

With a curt stare and a sip of the hideously sweet wine Iwaizumi set the glass down, in no mood for the jest. "Very funny." He'd already reviewed the situation with this comrades of his and sympathies had already been passed around and backs already pat. It was now a matter of keeping Iwaizumi emotionally settled enough to go the night without Oikawa. "I've just been wanting more after last night."

 

A cough -- coming from Kuroo who had been wearing a medical mask -- interrupted a moment. With the elastic lowered a bit, he took a swig from the brown bottle in front of him  (some pretentious microbrew that caused Iwaizumi to roll his eyes) he took a moment to speak. "He's probably fine. Kenma pulled this prank on mom one April Fools'. Had her flipping shit over it. Nearly kicked him out."

 

"So that's why she called me screaming about Kenma's warped sense of humor." Daichi chuckled as he took a sip from his drink again as Kuroo pulled the mask back up. The mask had been intriguing Iwaizumi who leaned forward to get a better look at the street race who had permanently cursed with helmet hair.

 

"Kuroo, are you actually sick?" he asked, finding himself concerned for the individual. Kuroo had always been incredibly able bodied -- he had to be as a racer -- and to see him looking ill was surprising.  A chuckle came from behind the medical mask as he idly twirled the bottle in his hands.

 

"Doctor says I might have Wakatoshi Syndrome." he admitted quietly, expression cast downward. "Waiting for results to come back before I know for sure. Said I could go out still but to keep myself from possibly spreading it, to keep a mask on if im not eating or drinking..." A laugh came from behind the mask as Kuroo's eyes lit up as it was evident he'd begun to smile under the mask. "But it's no problem -- this is a night about you!"

 

"Well, it's a problem now, Kuroo!" Iwaizumi barked from across the table. "Your doctor should know that at first sign of Wakatoshi Syndrome you need to get to an input center so you can prepare to start backing up your memories! It's not something where you can just throw on a mask and be okay. We're talking about a disease that can kill you in under a month!"

 

If there was anything that could genuinely get Iwaizumi truly fired up, it was about people not taking Wakatoshi Syndrome seriously. At this rate people had this tendency to view it as the flu and think taking a few ibuprofen and getting bed rest was the best medicine for it. But in reality the second the virus was caught it began slowly breaking down someone's white blood cell count and within a few hours caused individuals to essentially develop allergic reactions to almost all solid foods passed into their bodies. Following that it caused mild cases of neurological damage. In a sense -- Wakatoshi Syndrome could find every weak point of the human body and begin destroying it instantly.

 

He had already had to deal with seeing his lover be transferred as a child, along with his own sister and several close colleagues. He couldn't stand to see someone not take it seriously enough to begin preparing for a transfer. There was no cure for Wakatoshi Syndrome. Just treatment.

 

"Whoa, whoa settle down, Iwaizumi." Kuroo said. "I'm not going to kick it right away. It's not like I don't have plans to get to a center soon. Yaku, you know, Kenma's technician -- he's already offered to start backing things up tomorrow morning. Even if it does mean getting up at six in the morning -- whoops."

 

Kuroo had only been seen that morning, and Iwaizumi had been too hasty to scold him. Thankfully, he promised he'd be seeing a technician in the morning to make sure he could start backing things up in the event he had contracted the disease and had to undergo a transfer in the next couple weeks. It was better safe to see a doctor for screening the first sign of a symptom than to wait it off.

  
  


Upon returning home, several stages drunker and several moods brighter, Iwaizumi was greeted by the unpleasant atmosphere of an empty apartment and several voicemails on his phone from Akaashi asking him to call once he was sober enough to understand anything. Before his night out with his colleagues, Iwaizumi had removed the harddrive from his bed and left it with his computer to extract the backup for Oikawa. A message had popped up on the screen reading: " _Successfully Extracted 'Oikawa Tooru', 36.8TB. Compress and send now?_ "

 

To which Iwaizumi was just sober enough to click OK, beginning the next process which was estimated to take roughly fourteen hours. Fourteen hours that Iwaizumi would be spending asleep and sobering up.

Human beings were composed between roughly two and eighty terabytes depending on how complex and how long of a life was being stored. Oikawa was only twenty-six years old, so he still had plenty of time to accumulate more data. Yet, when he was transferred he was composed over only about eleven terabytes of data. A relatively simple transfer, and hence one reason why parents opted to have children transferred even without signs of Wakatoshi Syndrome. A precautionary measure to prevent the virus from affecting the child at all. Due to Oikawa's nature, Iwaizumi suspected he would likely pass away with roughly seventy-five terabytes, provided on how complex each memory was.

 

But this was all too complex for Iwaizumi to even think about at this hour and with this much alcohol in his system.

* * *

 

" _In a related story, we are currently on day twenty-six of the search for Kageyama Tobio, a medical Synthetic who vanished upon his return from his tour of duty in the Arctic Circle. Kageyama disappeared from his residence which he shares with Hinata Shouyo and Hitoka Yachi the well known advocates for Synthetic fitness for children. A recent development in the search for Kageyama Tobio has narrowed down the precise hex color for his circuitry. If anyone happens to see a young male Synthetic of about twenty years of age bearing circuits in hex code #05033E, please inform your local law enforcement agency with his whereabouts._ "

 

Twenty-six days had been something of an understatement. It had been more like thirty-four days, eighteen hours, twenty-nine minutes and forty-three seconds, according to the internal clock that Yachi had been paying almost obsessive attention to since Kageyama's disappearance. The trio of them were young, still fresh from college and military service.

 

Kageyama had enlisted rather than join Hinata and Yachi in obtaining their degrees in Physical Education and Synthetic Kinesthesiology. He had been undergoing classes throughout high school in order to obtain a medical background, ultimately to have its data installed into him along with his educational training. The second high school was over, he was shipped off to the Arctic Circle to participate in some war about modern world borders. Something about Russia attempting to invade Korea and Canada at the same time.

 

Hinata never really understood it. But then again, Japan's involvement with the rest of the world was rarely addressed in the media. It was always about Synthetics. Nothing more. Synthetics were hot. Synthetics were popular. Synthetics is what the public had to concern themselves with. There is nothing to worry about outside of Japan. It was all incredibly sketchy to him, but what did he know. He was a physical education student.

 

He was also frequently out on the town handing out flyers with Yachi to try and find Kageyama.

When Kageyama returned from the war, he wasn't the same. Like something had glitched, caused part of his personality to fry. Nothing a small reboot couldn't manage. They'd just set his personality back to an earlier date. Of course, this was war that Kageyama had experienced. A single reset might not work. After all, not everything one experiences can be compressed into data.

 

Kageyama stuck around a week or so. Hinata urged him to go see a psychologist to see what was wrong. Post Traumatic Stress is what he said, but it was the Synthetic equivalent.

 

Kageyama had been exposed to something distressing on both sides of the human experience. Something that affected him and something that affected his data. Nothing a good patch couldn't cater to. It would leave him with the experiences but without all the horrible emotional backlash.

At least that had been the plan. The day of Kageyama's appointment with the specialist was the day he vanished. No note, no collection of belongings. No nothing.

 

It wasn't unheard of for Synthetics to commit suicide almost instantly after returning from war zones. They were two-thirds more likely to end their life than organic humans. Something about how man was not meant to be machine during times of war. Something about humans being weapons and soldiers at the same time -- sentient tools. In some cases, Synthetics were encouraged to back up their data and act as suicide bombs to take out enemies.

 

But usually, they wouldn't be backed up. After all the beds in barracks were ill equipped to back up a soldier's data. So suicide missions would be carried out, and lives were lost. Word was more soldiers died via suicide than by combat.

 

A Silicone Kamikaze is what they were called.

 

War was no place for prejudice between the organic and Synthetic. But so it remained.

What no one would tell Hinata as he handed out flyers begging with exhausted vermillion eyes, was that Kageyama had not finished his job. He did go to his specialist. He did go to have his experiences patch. He did commit to the treatment.

 

" _Please, if you see him. Call that number. We really miss him!_ "

 

The treatment, however, did not commit to him.

 

And somewhere, sitting in a lab with circuitry glowing in hex code #05033E Kageyama remained with a corrupted memory bank, unaware that Hinata Shouyou and Hitoka Yachi existed. As far as he knew, they were figments of his imagination. After all, they had to be. Ushijima said so.

* * *

 

Iwaizumi woke rather unpleasantly to the gentle beeping of his phone ringing upon his nightstand. Having made no attempt to undress himself aside for removing his shoes and belt, Iwaizumi rolled from his arm, crinkles pressed into his flesh from the fabric of his shirt and grasped the phone. Akaashi. He'd apparently called three more times to inform Iwaizumi of something.

 

Gazing at the empty space in his bed, normally occupied by Oikawa, he blinked wearily, licking his lips to brush away the sour taste of dehydration. White film had collected at the corners, which he flicked away grumpily as he slid the touch screen of his phone to answer the impatient call of Akaashi Keiji.

 

"Good morning prince charming. Your princess is in this castle." Akaashi hummed into the call as the drumming of a pencil could be heard tapping against his desk. "I'll have you know I stayed awake the entire night while you cut loose with Sawamura and Kuroo, babysitting your fiance."

 

Hand clasped over Iwaizumi's face and rubbed his eyes, noting the time. He'd only slept about five hours and knowing his situation, he was likely still intoxicated. Not as much as he had been the night before, but the humming in his skull, vibrating behind his eyes indicated that he was still buzzed enough that he desperately needed coffee, a bottle of water and a cold shower. "Did you get the data?" he grumbled into the phone as he slipped off his bed, a cautious 'whoa' slipping from him as he obtained his balance as he looked himself over in the mirror. He looked like death, but he knew he could look much worse. Stubble decorated his cheeks and jaw due to having not showered or shaved since right before his speech, and bags hung heavily beneath his eyes.

 

"Not yet," Akaashi admitted. "But we've received a portion so far and have begun the reinstallation process." There was a small whooping noise from over the phone from Bokuto that included the phrase " _HEY HE KNOWS HIS NAME!_ " Akaashi only managed a chuckle in response. "Basic information has been retrieved, so he is aware of who he is again, but other than that, he's quite confused. I'm taking his reaction to Bokuto as a good sign that his personality has begun uploading."

 

The bags under Iwaizumi's eyes vanished, and suddenly he was rather content with the stubble upon his face as he found himself smirking. Even the most hideous of dispositions could be brightened up with a smile. Oikawa had told him that once, and it stuck with him. "Sounds good, when do you think he'll be good to go?" Iwaizumi asked combing a hand through his hair, opting to begin removing his shirt. Regardless of the call at hand, he could smell that he was getting rank and desperately needed to bathe.

 

"Likely this evening." Akaashi said, his fingers tapping along a keyboard. "Just see to it that you don't disconnect the hard drive from the transfer. He'll probably be reinstalled by this afternoon but I want to make sure nothing goes wrong -- oh."

 

He heard the sudden drop in voice from Akaashi and the tapping cease from the keyboard and just like that, Iwaizumi was horrified by his appearance once again. "What was that? What was that 'oh' you just said?"

 

Silence echoed from Akaashi's end a moment before he began to laugh, adding a "Bokuto, not while I'm on the phone!" to the end of his sentence. "My apologies, Iwaizumi. Bokuto decided now was a good time to play the roll of affectionate lover, when we all know that's not the case." A wave of relief, as well as some annoyance flickered over Iwaizumi before he sat himself down on the beds edge as he began tugging his socks off, eyes darting to the blue topaz ring on the nightstand. "Yes, this evening seems appropriate -- we'll see you then."

 

But the truth behind the "oh" that Akaashi let slip wasn't Bokuto. In most cases, this could be likely, yet for once Akaashi had to lie about the too-common affectionate prods from the Synthetic. Maybe it just had to do with the status of the transfer at that very moment.

After all, the route of the "oh" came from glaringly obnoxious red letters on the screen reading: " _Memories: Iwaizumi Hajime --_ **DATA CORRUPT.** "


	3. #b4eeb4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOH. GUESS WHAT. THERE'S A LITTLE PORN IN THIS CHAPTER.  
> Anyways, apologies for the slightly late post. Pretty drained at my convention and this chapter was kinda sluggish since it's a lot of us playing the waiting game because Iwaizumi had to play the waiting game too. Again I didn't get a beta for this chapter (because all my beta readers keep going to bed before I'm finished).  
> Also, if you cannot tell, there are going to be little interjections in the story with the lives of other characters now and then. Most are not linear but let me know which ones you'd like to see! The next planned ones are:  
> Tsukishima + Yamaguchi  
> Kuroo + Kenma  
> Hanamaki + Matsukawa  
> Ushijima + OTHER PEOPLE  
> Nishinoya + Asahi + Tanaka  
> Sugawara + Ennoshita
> 
> Please let me know who you'd like to see next in the comments! I have a backstory planned for EVERYONE! But that being said, allow me to say that with this chapter, now the REAL fun begins!

Across Bokuto's periwinkle and saffron eyes lines and lines of code fashed before them as well as program files dictating what was what in the memory banks of Oikawa Tooru. It was a boring job, monitoring each piece of data as he scanned through the linked android. He didn't have to pay total attention, of course. He could let it run in the background and he'd receive a notification once the scan was complete. It was thankless. It was boring. It was agonizing.

  
He tore himself free from monitoring the sleep-moded individual and slid across the lab to Akaashi who was receiving the completed and accepted scan on the monitor of his computer.

  
"Keiiiji." Bokuto whined as he rest his elbows on the back of his chair, palms outspread to cup his chin. "Keiiiiiiji. This is boring. Let's fool around." A hand casually placed itself over Bokuto's face to push him away from the desk that Akaashi had busied himself over. A heavy breath -- that of exasperation, slipped away from him as he gazed up from the desk, his opposing hand tugging at the handle of a drawer. From within he grasped a pack of rather refined looking cigarettes and began to pull one from its case. It was a special occasion for when Akaashi found himself particularly overwhelmed with the work at hand. This was such a case where the luxury cigarettes were warranted.

  
"Bokuto." he said, pointing at a particular line of programming on the screen, revealing the simplified name of the data. "Please read that."

  
Looking past the lines of coding that flashed before his eyes, Bokuto gazed at the words that Akaashi had pulled up on the screen. The diagnostics were going through particularly memory banks currently, being able to set aside the backup information as they slowly began to reinstall. But the scan had halted as it had opted to study the memories of certain individuals. Upon scanning the files for one Kageyama Tobio -- whom Bokuto idly pointed out was the missing military Synthetic who had been on the news lately -- the scan halted at the very name of Oikawa's long term lover, Iwaizumi Hajime.

  
"Watch what happens when I click it in order to perform a manual scan." Akaashi pointed out as he pressed one of the cigarettes to his lips and igniting the tip. A double-click later and the glaring crimson words of "DATA CORRUPT" flashed on to the screen.

  
And as Akaashi attempted to open the files, Bokuto stumbled backwards, a hand pressed to his forehead, wincing as he situated himself back in his chair. A hiss of pain -- as if suddenly electrocuted -- came from the Synthetic while his circuits flickered momentarily. The coding behind his eyes paused briefly before his voice rattled out. "D-Don't do that again! I felt it!"

  
A brow rose upon Akaashi's face as he turned to inspect his labpartner, leaning in close to discover a flickering of glitch coding upon Bokuto's eyes as the scan resumed. "Bokuto execute your extra firewalls." He noted, as Bokuto began to rub at his eyes, still wincing from the surprise sting of pain. "Is someone trying to access your scan?"

  
A head nodded and Bokuto lowered one of his hands -- the yellow eye almost appearing corrupted by distorted colors weaving through the coding as well as his own iris. "Yeah...Someone's trying to hack me, I think. Don't click that again --"

  
And like a summoning, the door to the lab slid open and in walked a tanned Synthetic with circuits in a warm shade of golden glowing through his skin. His hair was lightly colored and swept back off of his face revealing a number of circuit-piercings glowing in his flesh. Within his arms as he hopped his way in with a single foot swinging behind himself to close the door he set a pile of paperwork from his arms on to Akaashi's desk.

  
"Yuuji, sync with Bokuto if you will. I'm going to need you to reverse hack someone. Quickly." Akaashi spoke up, not even glancing at the individual who waisted no time lifting up the side of his shirt and pressing his waist to reveal a cord of sorts which he proceeded to plug into the side of the existing android. "We have someone trying to restrict Bokuto from accessing files during this diagnostic scan and I'll need you to block them from accessing him. His firewalls are up for now, but just as a precautionary measure."

  
With a grin the individual sat down on another chair and cracked his knuckles, golden eyes turned glassy and his fingers laid out against nothing before him, immediately beginning to type upon the virtual keyboard he'd pulled. "I'm on it, boss~"

  
Terushima Yuuji, former hacker and cyber terrorist -- spared lifelong imprisonment when discovered by the Fukurodani technicians. A skill far too valuable to be kept behind bars, Akaashi had requested to take on the once-criminal as an intern and a cyber-profiler. He'd keep watch over Terushima and rewire parts of him to see to it that he couldn't act out once assigned to the Fukurodani labs, and ultimately he would be his intern and his counter-hacking tool. The simplest way to put it: Terushima would be on permanent probation with Fukurodani until his sentence was up.

  
"H-hurry upppp!" Bokuto wailed, still wincing at the the unseen attack being exacted on the Synthetic as he began squirming in his seat, feet nearly stamping on the ground, annoyed with the poking and proding internally from both Terushima and his attacker.

  
"Shut uuuuup!" Terushima countered as he found himself momentarily caught in a back and forth battle with the hacker. "Just shut up or I'll leave this guy t'wipe you~!" His voice was almost lyrical as his fingers continued to motion against the virtual keyboard, hearing the clicks in his head before he managed to accept a few more prompts and -- "There! Got him!"

  
"Where's he located?" Akaashi asked as Terushima removed the cord attaching him and Bokuto. "I'll call the authorities."

  
With the cord now removed and placed back into his side, Terushima slid away from the two of them, his eyes clear once more. "That's the deal, can't trace him. No IP, but I did manage to block all anonymous users from accessing him. Man that was kinda fun though-- maybe I'll find the guy and hack him back!"

  
"There's going to come a day when this stops being fun, Yuuji." Akaashi said as he ran a palm over Bokuto's cheek. The Synthetic had grown pale but he was functioning. Nothing had been compromise thanks to Terushima's quick actions and Akaashi's instant order to raise a firewall. "I think someone may have something against Iwaizumi Hajime, Yuuji and therefore us by association. Are your blockers up to date?"

"Of course they are." He scoffed as he noted the scan going on in front of Bokuto's heterochromatic eyes before glancing over his shouler. "Ain't that his boyfriend?"

  
"Fiance, and yes." Akaashi replied.

  
"Someone wiped his harddrive and fucked with his data." Bokuto muttered, likely trying to wrap his mind around the fact someone attempted to do the same with him. "All his memories of Iwaizumi are wham -- gone."

* * *

 

Iwaizumi had now gone thirty-six hours without any word from his fiance. Likely still being reinstalled, the ethicist was left ot try and figure out precisely what he would be doing with his day. Another afternoon spent with Daichi and Kuroo seemed feasible but he wasn't in the mood for socializing anymore than he needed to. All he really wanted was to lay down on the couch next to Oikawa while the two of them busied themselves with something on television. It didn't matter what was on television. He just needed to spend time with his lover and let himself unwind.

  
The more he gazed at himself in the mirror the more he found himself looking unfamiliar. Even as he stood there, dripping with beads of water as they pooled upon the floor after his shower, there was something incorrect about the face of Iwaizumi Hajime. Perhaps it was because the cyan circuited arms of Oikawa Tooru weren't wrapping around his waist as his head rest upon his shoulder, lips gently pressing upon his cheek. Iwaizumi was finding it strange to be in this apartment alone. This was not his home, this was his and Oikawa's home.

  
Just a few hours. That's all he had to remind himself of while he handled this. A few hours more and Oikawa would be back in his bed again and Iwaizumi and he could talk about their wedding. He'd been thinking October of the next year.

A whole year to make sure things were prefect. To make sure Iwaizumi successfully finished his degree. A year to make sure that everyone they wanted here could be there.

  
Trudging slowly back to the bedroom, Iwaizumi laid upon the dark sheets with the towel hanging loosely around his hips. The last time he and Oikawa had spent time apart was eight months prior. Oikawa's nephew had contracted Wakatoshi Syndrome and he insisted that he visit his sister in order to be there for his sibling to ensure that his nephew made a successful transfer. And then it had been a planned arrangement. The night before he left Oikawa had crawled on top of Iwaizumi's lap, resting his open palms against his chest as he pressed his hips firmly against his -- nearly grinding as he kissed along Iwaizumi's neck, leaving delightful little marks of pink upon his flesh. He made sure that Iwaizumi had something delicious to think about while he was gone.

  
He brought his hand to his face, flushed from both the heat of his shower still warm on his flesh, and the memory of his fiance's treatment before he had left. This time Oikawa didn't plan to leave. And sure the night before the wiped hard drive seemed to be a wonderful memory to carry with him, but it wasn't enough. Pulling the hand from his face, wiping away the droplets of water that still clung to his cheek and jaw, he found himself preoccupied with the ceiling while his hand brushed away the towel clinging to him.

  
Somewhere in his idle gazing at the ceiling he grasped himself, not firmly, but enough to allow himself to think it over. It had been some time since he masturbated. Having Oikawa around as often as he did, he never had to concern himself with getting himself off. He had a boyfriend to do it for him. A boyfriend whose lips would be smiling one moment, be wrapped around his cock the next. He grunted, rubbing his eyes with his spare hand, the tingle of arousal pooling into his stomach. Just the brief thought of Oikawa leaning in close between his legs, delicately flicking the head of his cock with the tip of his tongue -- that settled it.

  
"Fuck," Iwaizumi grunted as he initially began rubbing his palm over the tip, making sure to get himself fully hard before he began to slip into the fantasy. "Might as well..." he murmured to himself as he dwelt on the image. Oikawa had always had a big mouth, and oh god, Iwaizumi did love when he shut it too.

  
There it was. There was the shudder he enjoyed -- preferably when Oikawa caused it -- the shudder that came from just the right touch to the underside of his shaft as he worked himself up. The kind of touch that came from Oikawa teasingly running his fingertip under him, as if examining him, unable to determine if Iwaizumi's cock was worth sucking. That was one of the horrible things Oikawa did to him that drove him crazy. As much as a bottom as he was, Oikawa would always treat Iwaizumi with such a pompous attitude at first. That "I have better things and better people to do, so why should I waste my time getting you off?" sort of cockiness that made Iwaizumi almost feel like dirt. Just briefly, Oikawa would make him feel like a needy son of a bitch, eager and desperate to be touched. That sliver of degradation was always fleeting and he lived for it, even though he would instantly retaliate with the biting tone Oikawa always deemed "mean" or "cruel" before he'd sit himself up and ravage his lover with kisses, bites and scrapes alike.

  
Yes. _There_ it was. That lyrical hum he was used to when Oikawa was turning him on. Whispering to him quietly: " _Iwa-chan's so hard~! Mm, how embarrassing! Does he really want me to get him off? So dirty~!_ " It was always teasing. It was always pushing his boundaries. And it was always what ultimately got Iwaizumi hard enough to fuck his lover quiet.

  
Palm squeezed and he adjusted himself, comfortably wrapping his hand around his length. Going up, and then down, pressing weight against himself --

  
_Oikawa pressed his weight against Iwaizumi as he sat cross legged on the bed, holding his lovers body against him. In the blackness of the bedroom, Oikawa's glowing circuits shimmered against Iwaizumi as he pressed his weight against him. Deft fingers curled through Iwaizumi's hair -- loose ebony locks that were sticking to his neck in tiny curls from the sweat accumulated between them. With fluid, echoing sighs from Oikawa as Iwaizumi too pressed against him to keep the friction going, all he could really say to himself was "I am going to marry this man."_

  
_"Iwa-chan..." Oikawa gasped, the hue of turquoise in Iwaizumi's peripheral as his neck craned back, allowing the bulkier male to capture his throat with his lips. Nothing too fierce of bruising. This was a loving embrace, not a kinky one. There was no need for leaving marks or welts. Love didn't need to be seen to be noticed. Yet, he suckled upon Oikawa's throat anyways, palm sliding up the length of his lovers back as he curved into it while hips proceeded to rock back and forth within the individual._

  
_"Shh," he breathed against his throat as his hand came to the back of Oikawa's neck, noting only subconsciously the bump in the flesh where the final transfer cable had been removed all those years ago. On occasion, Oikawa would comment being able to feel it and so Iwaizumi would kiss it tenderly, nipping only by request, and always finishing up in the bedroom. "Now's not the time."_

  
_His body was shifting, tensing and squeezing -- back and forth, unsure whether to prolong and fight the oncoming surge of over stimulation, or whether to allow it to come flushing through him. Just a little longer he'd prolong it, eager to make it last as long as possible for both parties. Oikawa's fingers clenched and relaxed, breath became strained yet steady while his body would shift from rigid and hesitant to loose and flexible within Iwaizumi's hands. Close as he was, this would not be their only round of the evening. With the talented fingers of Iwaizumi running over his neck and over his cock, Oikawa was facing but one of many climaxes of the evening._

  
_Fingers flexed within his hair as Oikawa changed the endearment, as a fluttering "H-hajime...!" escaped him. No eye contact necessary as Iwaizumi's pace quickened (reminding himself this was loving tonight, not kink) and he held his hand behind Oikawa's skull to press down the auburn curls as he held him still._

  
_Their weight pressed together, and that was all they needed._

  
_He came much more suddenly than he anticipated, the events of the other night crisp in his mind as he wiped the mess on his towl before raising to his feet, quickly discarding the towel into the hamper. He'd make use of the day off and the day without Oikawa, he figured as he ventured into the bathroom to wash his hands, disgusted with himself for getting off as quickly as he had. Then again, he'd also become so much more accustomed to Oikawa's hands, lips and everything that his body had forgotten what it was even like to masturbate._

  
With hands clean, Iwaizumi slapped some more water on his face to fight off the haziness that came post-orgasm. If he and Oikawa fooled around in the morning while he got ready for work or class, Oikawa often was brimming with energy and was quick to get Iwaizumi a drink of water or a cup of coffee to wake him up and motivate him to crawl out of bed. Without Oikawa, Iwaizumi was prone to falling right back asleep.

  
Sleeping again would make the day without him go by much faster, but there was only so much a man could sleep before he could be considered socially inept. Maybe just thirty minutes, then he'd go about cleaning the apartment in anticipation for Oikawa's return home later that night.

* * *

 

  
"You're picking at your circuits again, holy shit!" an angry, short-tempered and almost youthful voice broke out, followed by the loud clanking of metal and a whine before white noise echoed through the labs of Nekoma again. "I swear, it's at least once a week I have to patch you up!"

  
Sitting on the work bench of one of the smaller (joke unintended, truthfully)facilities of Nekoma sat an altogether too-tall Synthetic, leg outstretched upon the bench with the artificial skin peeled away to reveal misaligned plating and several frayed and cut circuits. Normally a shimmering shade of green, they only managed the occasional flicker before they would go out for a few more minutes.

  
"It's the air here, I swear it!" came the half-hearted excuse from the Synthtetic as the pecan haired engineer began prodding within the leg with a screwdriver to remove the plating within the limb. "I get so itchy that I just tear away at the skin!"

  
"You're full of crap,"

  
Morisuke Yaku -- circuitry engineer and metallic skeletal expert. Twenty-three years of age, and still struggling to figure out just where he was intending to take his career after finishing college. Though he specialized in the physical attributes to the production of Synthetics, he'd been starting to pop up in the fashion circuit, known for assisting in creating circuitry that would reflect the moods of Synthetic models. He'd even been working on engineering removable circuitry, similar to LEDs for organic humans to wear. 4.0 grade point average in circuitry engineering and here he was, working on fashion projects in a joint partnership with the lead designer at Thunder Rolls Studios.

  
He was one of the people that you called upon if a Synthetic tore or chipped their circuits. Faster than almost everyone in the field, Yaku was known for being able to replace an entire Synthetic's circuitry in under thirty minutes. He'd perfected the art of replacing each one with the subject awake and functioning without it ever so much as tickling. The trick was to do it in sections.

  
Todays subject was too common, Haiba Lev -- a model employed by Thurder Rolls on loan from the Second USSR. Since Japan had closed its borders once the Arctic War began, many models, diplomats and engineers alike from the Slavic empire had claimed refugee or work-related status as Japanese citizens until the war was over. Haiba Lev had become a popular figure in the media of Japan, having become recognized for how his pale features accentuated his circuits like no other native model.

  
As he claimed, the air in Japan bothered his skin, causing him to suffer from irritation thus making him itch nearly constantly. The downside to being a model was that no matter how beautiful his inner structure was, it was the outer beauty he expelled that he was known for. Yaku's handiwork, other than fixing circuits, rarely went recognized.

  
He supposed it was alright. As long as Lev never messed with his damn circuitry.

"Am not!" Lev swore as Yaku's hands worked quickly to remove the plating while strining up fresh lines of circuitry to attach to him. "I promise!"

  
Gazing up at him, eyes narrowed, Yaku aggressively shoved the plate into place, causing Lev to yelp somewhat at the brashness. "I swear, it's almost like you _enjoy_ having me work on you."

  
It was almost like Yaku was completely correct.

* * *

 

Moment of truth. At nearly five in the evening after an afternoon spent partially sleeping, partially doing every scrap of laundry, partially dusting, vacuuming, washing dishes and cleaning the apartment from top to bottom, Akaashi finally sent Iwaizumi the message he'd been waiting for. Oikawa had been reinstalled. Once Iwaizumi arrived he would pass on instructions that would be necessary for Oikawa during the first few days after re-installation.

  
Just as when an organic human being gets sick, they see a doctor for medicine and treatment, the same could be said about a Synthetic. They saw technicians. Like any human real or artificial, a Synthetic could still become ill. They were impervious to most major diseases, yet they were still susceptible to catching colds or the flu and could still be affected by allergies or bad food. Migraines were particularly common in some models, as well. Instead of medicine for most ailments, a Synthetic would simply be set to the last known good configuration after a few days of combating sickness, and all would be well. There was never a "mend" for a Synthetic to approach. They would one day be sick, the next entirely healthy.

  
What did he wear? That was the question that was (for some unknown reason) plaguing Iwaizumi. One doesn't get dressed up to visit a recovering hospital patient so why was he so stressed about looking nice for his lover after his re-installation?

  
He'd go as he was.

  
(Though he still opted to wear a nice button down with dress slacks. Just for propriety.)

  
Pictures of Iwaizumi going out with Kuroo and Daichi were already circulating, some people suggesting that Iwaizumi's engagement to Oikawa was just a farce and that the two of them had recently broke up and they were trying to confuse the media. Waving off the paparazzi that were waiting outside the apartment as he slipped out, Iwaizumi insisted that the lot of them preoccupy themselves with more important people for a while. He was just a man going to visit his fiance. Nothing to write home about.

  
The same process occurred again as he entered the Fukurodani labs, several of the reporters from his apartment still following him all the way there. They were nothing, simply media hogs that were only there to make his life frustrating. This time, with clearance from the security drones, Iwaizumi was able to make it past them and down the pristine ivory hallways to Akaashi's office where his knuckled clunked against the door awaiting entrance.

  
With the door open to reveal someone other than Bokuto or Akaashi, Iwaizumi initially began to suspect he had the wrong office. With vermilion piercing circuits pulsing and similar eyes staring him down, it was as if he'd walked into a penitentiary instead of a lab. With mouth open to ask where Akaashi's office was, the devil himself spoke up over the silence.

  
"That's him, Yuuji. You can let him in." Akaashi instructed from behind the door as the lingering scent of tobacco sudenly struck Iwaizumi's senses.

  
Stepping aside, Iwaizumi was allowed in by Terushima who had shared a silent chuckle at the way Iwaizumi's nose crinkled up from the scent. "Please tell me Oikawa's not going to stink of that." he frowned as Terushima sat himself down in the now empty seat of the diagnostic chamber instead of one of the chairs floating around the lab.

  
"He won't. This is only my second one day." Akaashi said, spinning around in his chair while Terushima proceeded to lounge in the chamber, finding the particular hair fibers OIkawa had left in there particularly amusing. "Bokuto's getting him dressed in proper clothes in the other room right now. They've been chattering quite a bit -- I needed to get them out of here."

  
A sigh of relief slipped free from Iwaizumi as he too sat down, his lips pulled back as he beamed pleasantly, glad to hear his fiance's personality had been restored. "Oh great, he's probably talking Bokuto's ears off about the engagement, huh?"

  
Akaashi took a slow drag of the cigarette, suddenly initiating a silence that was much unlike the awkward one that had taken place as Iwaizumi and Terushima played their game of misplaced eye contact. "...About that." Akaashi murmured softly, crooking a finger to beckon Iwaizumi to slide his chair over to him, causing a knot to grow once more in the stomach of the ethicist. "I need to give you instructions."

  
With some hesitation, Iwaizumi slid over to the other male and proceeded to catch a glimpse of what laid on the screen. "Please tell me I just need to keep his battery charged." he asked, hopeful but still concerned at the possibility that it was something greater. Using the cigarette as a pointer, Akaashi scrolled through the diagnostic test results for him, using the smoldering end to trace an invisible circle in the air for him.

  
"That line of coding right there," he said softly. "indicates that while this is Oikawa Tooru...he doesn't have any concrete recollection of you after the age of five. We're going to see if this is a data fluke once we bring him in, but either way." Akaashi brought the cigarette to his lips. "I do have his memories of you in a backup folder we're just having a hard time installing them. It's as if someone doesn't want him to clearly know who you are."

  
He would remain silent about the hacking attempt on Bokuto earlier, especially since it seemed that their interference seemed to be connected to the events surrounding Iwaizumi after all.

  
Before Iwaizumi could even make complete sense of what Akaashi had informed him of, the door on the far side of the room opened, and that voice rang out that caused his heart to swell. There it was, that chime. That musical sound. The chipper melody that was Oikawa's voice floated through the air to Iwaizumi's ears. Though it had only been two days, the sound of his voice was like a comforting blanket wrapped around him during a frigid rainstorm. He was chattering away with Bokuto, the two of them laughing and sharing jokes at one another about all sorts of current events and mutual friends.

  
And Iwaizumi couldn't help himself. He brought himself to his feet and made his way across the room. Lighter than air he nearly flew towards Oikawa, his arms enveloping him and pulling the Synthetic close as all the fears he'd had about losing him were washed away. There he was, Oikawa Tooru, in the artificial flesh -- just as wonderful as he ever was. Just as beautiful. Just as perfect. Just as the exact lover Iwaizumi had been enamored with --

  
"Ah! Bokuto~ Who's your friend? He's quite affectionate!"

  
Just void of any recollection of Iwaizumi at all.  
  


 

Oikawa had no idea who Iwaizumi was. That was certain. As Iwaizumi pulled away, crestfallen and shocked by the words that came form his beautiful lovers lips, he looked over Oikawa's features. It was him. The way he spoke, the way he smiled. There was no doubt in his mind that Oikawa was still Oikawa. He glanced toward Akaashi who had averted his gaze, seeking some explanation.

  
"I told you. Five years old."

  
A few hours earlier, Iwaizumi had let himself orgasm to the idea of sleeping with the man standing before him. But now he could only describe the sensation within his gut as being the exact opposite. He could feel every nerve within him beginning to shake, quivering as it caused his gut to rumble. Onset nausea and increased heart rate and the sickening sensation of ones very soul being caught in their throat overcame him.

  
Fives years old. According to Oikawa, the last time he'd seen Iwaizumi he had been five years old.

  
"Iwaizumi, if I may." Akaashi said, standing and heading toward the hall, not even bothering to put out the cigarette as he lead him from the room.

  
This was where the instructions came into play. He handed the cigarette to Iwaizumi -- normally one to harbor hatred for cigarettes, he needed to settle himself somehow. His fingers had clenched into his palms as fists formed to stave off the tremors. Was he mad? Upset? What even was the word for this feeling. It was a degree of heartbreak, that was for sure but there was more to it. Something more feral. Perhaps it was a desire to seek revenge on whatever did this.

But, this was data. It was very likely that it was just a fluke.

  
"Iwaizumi." Akaashi repeated as he watched the individual puff away nervously at his first cigarette. "Someone hacked Oikawa. We don't know that for certain, but it seems likely, as they attempted to hack Bokuto while performing his diagnostic test. It is likely someone who has something against you and they still have access to Oikawa's data to prevent any data involving you after his transfer to be accessed. It's still available in him, but it's not going to be easy to recover." Akaashi's tone had shifted from polite intellect to that of a funeral goer conveying their loss, a sympathetic, compassionate tone that Iwaizumi never knew to believe. "I'm sorry, Hajime. We're doing what we can but --"

  
The remaining words didn't escape from him as Iwaizumi had dropped the cigarette and turned his attention on the anger that had begun to bubble over. He'd snatched Akaashi by the shoulders, shoving the man into the wall with a thudding deep enough to be felt through the structure. His expression of calm disbelief and panic had dripped away only to be replaced with a vengeful sort of rage that was nearly unbecoming. "Doing what you _can_?!" he shouted, teeth born like a vicious predator at the very notion of consuming prey. "Akaashi, we are talking about my _fiance_! Who I have known my _entire goddamn life_! And you're telling me you're just ' _doing what you can_ ' to restore a _lifetime's_ worth of memories of _our relationship_?!" His grip on Akaashi became rougher as he found himself pulling him away and slamming him into place again. " _I can deal with someone dying on me, Akaashi, because memories stay! But we're talking a lifetime of memories -- **gone!**_ "

  
Another slam and with that -- Iwaizumi's grip became slack and Akaashi pried his hands away from him. "Are you finished?" he asked coldly, adjusting his glasses which had become askew. "Besides, you never let me finish." he added, as he proceeded to adjust the fabric of his jacket. " _What we can do,_ " he began, putting emphasis on the words. "Is gradually reinstall him and back up the memories plus add an additional firewall to keep them secure."

  
"The hell do you mean by gradually reinstall."

  
"I mean we can essentially torrent his memories of you from the master server, but..."

  
"But what?"

  
Akaashi inhaled, a hand resting upon Iwaizumi's shoulder, offering a consoling smile the best he could. "...Are you sure he didn't delete his memories of you on purpose? I am not ruling out the more likely conclusion that someone hacked him, but do keep that in mind."

  
The thought of that alone was enough to make Iwaizumi vomit.

  
The cigarette didn't help.


	4. #cd2626

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay wow so guess what. Dedication time!  
> So this is a shout out to Cassidy who I met at Metrocon and literally made me so fucking excited like holy crap. To have someone address this fic by name when I mentioned "Iwaoi" and "Synthetic" was just so motivating and inspiring to me. It was so great to meet you and I hope you like this chapter!!
> 
> Also little shout out to my partner in crime, iridisal. It's been fantastic working on this story with you and I can't thank you enough for letting me write this AU for you. It's been absolutely wonderful and I hope you and I can continue writing things together for a while. Thank you for always reviewing my work and being a good friend.
> 
> Thirdly, I do want to apologize for the late posting on this. Last week was an unintentional hiatus. I had planned on updating the fic while I was in Florida for Metrocon but I was with my datemate and I was too busy dating someone to work on writing this. So I hope you all understand! But given that I took that unintentional hiatus I AM taking a full week hiatus for real because I would like to dedicate more than a week to writing more than one chapter so instead of writing each chapter right before it comes out, to be ahead by one chapter. Make sense?
> 
> So I'm anticipating the next chapter to be ready July 1st with a chapter due for the following week already completed!
> 
> Anyways, it's a little short this time but I think it's a good stopping point. It's happy! But for how long?

Sitting back in the lab with Oikawa -- still him, of course but not quite -- Iwaizumi took emotional inventory. His fiance sat across from him, the same attire he had arrived in -- the baggy sweatpants and t-shirt and hoodie left open across his torso. These were only the kind of clothes he wore if he were sick or feeling particularly lazy when he got home from work. It was his " _Iwa-chan is going to take them off anyways,_ " clothes as he recalled. Terrible name, but there was no lie behind them.

  
"Oikawa," Akaashi began as he began to print out the final report of the diagnostic scan. "Do you recognize the individual across from you?" He had turned away from the two of them while off to the side Bokuto and Terushima had begun tidying up while Akaashi resumed his work. Needless to say the two of them kept peeking over their shoulders to eavesdrop on the exchange.

  
Oikawa held his hand to his lips, squinting and examining the individual before him, studying his features. Iwaizumi expected him to announce to the lab that he did recognize Iwaizumi and he was just teasing him. It wasn't past Oikawa to harass him like that. Yet, the Synthetic's turquoise eyes lit up as he reached out, clasping the heavy hands of the ethicist, practically beaming -- overjoyed. And for Iwaizumi, just for a moment he had suspected he was right. Oikawa was playing with him.

  
"ARE YOU IWAIZUMI HAJIME?!" he asked loudly, causing Iwaizumi's heart to soar, relief sweeping through him. Scientific results be damn.

  
His lips parted, teeth revealed as he too smiled, his hands shifting within Oikawa's to clasp his hand. "Yeah. Yeah that's me. I knew you'd remem--"

  
Leaning in closer, still overly excited, the next words to escape Oikawa were ones that could crush the very life from Iwaizumi. "I haven't seen you in _twenty years_!! How are you?!"

* * *

 

Several years prior, when Iwaizumi had come to understand that the boy he was dating would one day be married to him, he and Oikawa had had a conversation during one of their more innocent dates. The kind where it was only them, a prolonged period of comfortable silence and minimal fooling around at the dates end. They had decided to take a weekend to leave the city. Go to the countryside (or at least what remained of it, as it was all in some form occupied by the military) and shack up in a bed and breakfast for a few days and just escape from it all.

  
Oikawa was never one for going on nature hikes, always claiming to be getting too hot from overexertion (which Iwaizumi knew was a load of crap since Synthetics had internal cooling systems that didn't allow them to get sweatier than necessary). But he would often tough it out for Iwaizumi on these little outings, after all there would never be distractions. Iwaizumi's phone would remained powered off at the bottom of his bag, and Oikawa would disconnect himself from any towers that might distract him.

  
Despite all of his complaining about the heat and the bugs, Oikawa was actually relatively well behaved on their walk in the woods. He continued to grasp Iwaizumi's hand on and off as they walked, only to let go when he found the sweat of his palms to unbearable, whining about how Iwaizumi needed to dry his skin out before letting them hold hands. Of course all good things have their downsides. Such as Iwaizumi and Oikawa finding that night was beginning to fall and they were still somewhere in the mountains without an easy route back down.

  
And all of this somehow had resulted in the two of them opting to take a breather in a clearing on their way down as darkness took over everything and stars came out from hiding. It had cooled down enough that Oikawa's hand slipped into Iwaizumi's again, ignoring any of the sweat that might still have dampened his flesh. The comfortable silence had taken hold as hands laced together while Oikawa smiled and stared at the stars. It was a common routine -- step out anywhere where stars could shine and Oikawa was a glowing mess, with or without circuits.

  
And Iwaizumi was always glad to see him smile. At least until Oikawa said something stupid.

  
"You know for all the advancements humans have made, it's still super crazy that they can't show more proof that aliens exist."

* * *

 

It was hard to just sit there and listen to Oikawa. Twenty years? Twenty years, his ass. Iwaizumi knew better, as did everyone else in the lab. No matter how much they were all attempting to busy themselves with various tasks at hand, there was no denying that everyone's ears had tuned in on the conversation. With Oikawa's insistance that it had been so long, Iwaizumi was left there to ponder a crucial concept. How did he convince Oikawa to come back home?

  
The hand within Iwaizumi's grasp felt foreign and unfamiliar, even with the delicate teal circuits leaving the faintest glow against his wrist. Iwaizumi had never found the flesh of Synthetic's to feel even remotely mass produced, but the sensation of Oikawa's hand in his own mimicked that of silicone. Almost rubbery, clearly fabricated within his grasp, Iwaizumi was torn between tearing his hand free to the safe recluse of his lap, or whether to continue holding on like he had been with many other aspects of this travesty.

  
"About that," Iwaizumi murmured, gazing off to the side, finding it gradually more and more difficult to look his Synthetic lover in the eye. "It's more like, twenty-four hours if you want to get technical." A glance from Akaashi over his shoulder to the conversing pair, brow quirked as if intrigued to find that Iwaizumi was willing to even bring their relationship up already.

  
"Twenty-four hours?" Oikawa leaned back in his chair, the unnatural hand withdrawing from Iwaizumi's clutches as he gestured about in the air. "Iwaizumi-san, I _think_ I would remember if I had seen you just yesterday. I wouldn't be this amazed at meeting you again if we --"

  
He couldn't do it. He'd been so patient throughout all of this. He'd been patient when Oikawa went offline, he'd been patient when he had to sneak a data-less Synthetic past Fukurodani security. He'd been patient while Bokuto did his diagnostic. While he drank his emotions away. While he lay in wait _wondering_ if his fiance even _existed_ anymore. It was all too much. It was enough to make Iwaizumi want to tear his very brain from his body and force it into Oikawa's just to make damn sure that there was some part of him in Oikawa's memory.

  
" _Cut the crap._ " Iwaizumi growled, his knuckles cracking as he forced his hand into a fist, clutching at the subtle plaid print of his trousers in an attempt to remain composed. "You know damn well that we've been close for a hell of a lot longer than you're thinking right now. Knock the shit off and quit with the fucking games."

  
"I'm _sorry_?" Oikawa replied quickly, leaning in toward the ethicist, a brow raised and lips quirked into a grimace of utter disgust. "Iwaizumi-san, I haven't seen you in nearly _two decades_ and you're suggesting I'm playing some sort of game with you? What sort of disrespect is this?"

  
"I _KNOW_ IT'S A GAME." came the loud bark of Iwaizumi as he rose to his feet, the metal legs of the chair scraping against the ground. "Now knock it off and _come home_!"

  
"Hajime."

  
Akaashi, still witness to the scene at hand, pulled away from his desk and stood, placing himself between Iwaizumi and his data-corrupt lover. Adjusting the slightly crinkled lab coat he wore, Akaashi extended his arms towards him, grasping his shoulders to keep him from making another uncalled for gesture.

  
"You raise your voice like that in my lab again and I will remove the patch I did on him and I will see to it that he _never_ goes home with you, do you understand?"

* * *

 

"You're getting sick," was the soft reply from the golden circuited Synthetic that lay upon his bed in the shared bedroom between himself and Kuroo. "You should tell mom so she stops worrying."

  
"I'm not getting sick," the street racer said with a huff as he sipped at a mug of tea that sat on his desk as he drummed his fingers against the antique wood that his mother insisted he have as a contrast to the rest of his bedroom. "I've just got bad allergies."

  
He was getting sick. In his mid-twenties (and still living with his parents and adopted-Synthetic brother, Kozume Kenma), Kuroo thought there really wasn't much that could go wrong for him. It wasn't as if he would be utterly homeless if he were kicked out. But he didn't pay rent, or bills or even for his own food. Life was relatively easy for the sometimes ill-behaved male. At least, aside for the fact he was getting sick.

  
The downside to his line of work was the fact there were some sketchy individuals that liked to associate with his kind. People who deliberately contracted Wakatoshi Syndrome and made a point of passing it on to as many people as possible before they let the disease kill them, for example. Sometimes they were Synthetic-Superiorists, other times they were just twisted bastards who enjoyed making peoples lives miserable.

  
In Kuroo's case he'd associated with a young woman who was all too keen on trying to crush as many big-names as possible before he let the sickness kill her. She never used the same name, but her goal in life seemed to be that of floating from one congregation of underground celebrities to another, passing on Wakatoshi Syndrome to whoever she found to be most enjoyable to squash beneath her thumb.

  
Kuroo had been her last victim before she ultimately succumbed to the disease.

  
Though preoccupied with the transparent screen that held itself within Kenma's line of sight as his fingers pressed at buttons that went unseen to everyone else, he managed to pass a glace toward Kuroo, quizically as if to test him. A few blinks of his eyes and the screen vanished, allowing him to raise to his feet and approach his foster-brother. "Are you trying to convince me or you?" he asked as he placed his hand upon Kuroo's forehead, brushing past the thick, ebony wisps of hair that never seemed to remain tucked behind his ear. And although he protested, batting at Kenma's hand like an irritated kitten, he was bested quickly.

  
"You've got a fever. Pretty high too. 38.5." And with not another word, Kenma had left the room, causing a somewhat stunned Kuroo to scrambled to his feet, attempting to follow him.

  
"DON'T YOU DARE TELL MOM."

  
Kuroo was sick.

* * *

 

Akaashi's threat had been a valid one. He knew how to undo all the work and effort he had put into restoring Oikawa, and so Iwaizumi backed down. Better to have Oikawa in any form than no Oikawa at all. So with the intervention, Akaashi beckoned Oikawa to sit next to him at his desk as he began to open a series of files on his computer.

  
"You're lucky I happen to keep a small selection of personal social files at work with me," Akaashi uttered as he clicked a particular folder labeled as "Hokkaido Vacation". Within it, there were a number of photos and video files that had been stored, some with obscure thumbnails, others with familiar faces. "Oikawa, please, despite Iwaizumi-san's outburst, I would like to show you these files so you can understand _why_ he reacted the way he did. I am aware it was in poor taste, but I think you ought to have the full picture before jumping to conclusions --"

  
"He's a brute, I'm _glad_ we fell out of contact." Oikawa scoffed, his arms folding across his chest as Akaashi grasped him by the chin and turned his focus to the computer where he'd begun accessing files to reveal several images for him to look at.

  
"Focus please."

  
Iwaizumi couldn't help but feel almost disgusted, seeing Akaashi being able to touch Oikawa so easily without repurcussion. But he supposed if good came from it all, it might be worth it. A slideshow of images began to flip through on the screen: photos from a time two summers prior where Iwaizumi and Akaashi had managed to convince a number of their friends to join them on a long weekend to Hokkaido. It had been shortly after tourist season had ended, and about the time when most people were filing back into the repetitive grind of the work year. But somehow, a number of young adults in the Synthetic research field managed to have that time off and opted to take that time for a small vacation away from everything.

  
Hokkaido had become one of the few places in Japan where nature still flourished enough to attract visitors. Given that the group of them had been so confined to to city life in the past several years, an escape was needed. Onuma Koen was still actively being cared for and maintained to uphold the same attractiveness it had in the past, and just outside Hakodate, it was just far enough removed from their urban lifestyle that the escape almost made it seem as if the cyber-technical world of the city didn't exist.

  
"Oikawa Tooru," Akaashi said as he began to let the slideshow begin, slowly alternating from one image to another. The gathering of individuals was mostly composed of workers at the Fukurodani lab, along with Iwaizumi and Oikawa and a couple of his colleages from the Seijou facility. "I know his choice of words were harsh, but Iwaizumi is not trying to make fun of you. You are in a relationship with him, as hard as it is to believe."

  
"Ha, that's rich! I'm pretty sure someone would have stopped me from --"

  
Akaashi's neck twisted to look at Oikawa and clicked to the next image. It was that of Iwaizumi and his Synthetic lover sprawled on a couch with Oikawa nestled comfortably against his chest, smiling in what appeared to be a lazy nap. A quiet ' _Oh that doesn't mean anything.'_ slipped from Oikawa before Akaashi clicked to the next image that showed the same couple with hands intertwined on the porch of the cabin they had been sharing on the left side of the image.

  
"Oh come on," Oikawa grunted. "I would remember something like that. I remember that trip but these pictures are _clearly_ doctored."

  
Iwaizumi's hands twisted around the fabric of his trousers again, allowing Akaashi to be the one to inform Oikawa of the sordid details of the photographs. "I am a professional, Oikawa." Akaashi said. "I know these photos are not doctored because I _took_ them." he commented, a bite in his voice as he flipped to the next one which was a very obvious image of Oikawa placing a kiss on Iwaizumi's cheek, and somewhat up close as well. A smile on his lips as his hand was placed gently on his lovers face as he was pulled in close for the kiss.

  
Silence was clear from the Synthetic as he watched as Akaashi continued to flip through the images, only for him to brush the researchers hand away from the keyboard to return to the image of the playful kiss.

  
"Huh," he chimed, examining the photograph, cyan eyes scanning the content on the screen. "If that's so, why can't I remember it? Seems pretty silly to me."

  
"Someone," Iwaizumi spoke up after a moment of silence. "Tried to remove me from your memories." He had yet to look up more than a moment as the slideshow began, almost afraid to see how Oikawa's face would react to the various images in the collection. "I know I'm a damn asshole, but we've been together for years. And, shit Tooru, I don't know what I did to cause those memories to get erased but--"

  
Looking up, only half-heartedly, he tried to study Oikawa's features -- it was an expression that dictated willingness to listen and possible understanding if he liked what words were going to come out of Iwaizumi's lips. He knew that look, it was the kind Oikawa always made when he disliked Iwaizumi's plans for school related projects or work, but the sort that showed that he understood just why things were scheduled the way they were.

  
Maybe Oikawa was gone. Maybe those years were lost on him and totally unattainable now. Maybe they were so far deleted that things were going to be different from this day on.

  
"Even if I have to start over at the beginning with you, I will. And I'll share every single memory I have of you and I together, and tell them to you like a story. I'll make damn sure that our life together before this day comes together like the best damn novel you've ever read."

* * *

 

Something about that line had convinced Oikawa. Whatever it was, Iwaizumi wasn't entirely sure. But it had convinced Oikawa to accept that he'd go home with Iwaizumi that night. If only, as he said, because his family was too far out of the city to make it easy for him to travel home. Of course that would have been rather unsettling for his parents. What would they even think if they found out their son had his memories of his long-time lover erased? Probably similar to Iwaizumi in the sense that they'd be devastated and horrified at the very concept that someone would dare remove an entire history of another individual from a Synthetic's memory.

  
"So." Oikawa announced as the two of them began to leave the lab together, his hands neatly tucked into the pockets of the hooded sweatshirt. "If what you and Akaashi-san tell me is true, we were dating."

  
"Yes."

  
"For a really long time."

  
"That's correct."

  
"And you're apparently famous?" Oikawa had stopped in the hallway, his lips pursed in contemplation, causing Iwaizumi to stop a few feet ahead of him. "I find this really hard to believe. You're telling me that I'm dating my childhood best friend -- who, mind you, disappeared off the face of the planet after my transfer-- and he's this bigshot ethical celebrity now?" A lyrical sort of laugh slithered past his lips and hung in the air with the slightest of echos. "I'll buy that we _maybe_ were dating, but Iwaizumi-san you're being ridiculous."

  
Yet,within the time that it took Oikawa to express his skepticism about Iwaizumi's position within the media, he'd retrieved his phone and pulled up the most recent article he found find with his name on it. Flashing in big red letters at the headline of one periodical read: " _Iwaizumi Hajime + Oikawa: Quarrel or Quits?_ " followed by some sub-header about Oikawa's apparently loss of data.

  
"This journal is alone is read by nearly three million people world wide every day, and this isn't even one of the big ones, Tooru --"

  
"Please stop calling me Tooru, you're too forward."

  
A knot quickly formed within his gut at that refusal to allow Iwaizumi to be informal with his lover. Feeling ice chill him as his blood no longer resembled anything even remotely lukewarm. Subconsciously, he'd found that he'd placed a hand upon his chest, squeezing at the fabric that covered his torso and had clutched over his heart. A speed unbecoming for the somewhat hot-headed, but still understanding individual, he released the cloth, aiming to brush it off.

  
"Right, Oikawa-san." he corrected himself, feeling warmth slip away from him. "But can you believe me? That's me in that photo. And that's you. We're together and -- " He took a breath and brought the formerly tightened fist to sweep through his hair. "For simplicity's sake, if any reporters harass you on our way out of here, can you play it cool? Just tell them it was routine maintenance. Like, a virus or something being removed. It'll make it easier for us both."

  
"As far as I know, that _is_ why I'm here, Iwaizumi." he huffed, arms crossing over his chest. "Let's just get out of here quickly, these clothes are hardly worth going out in."

  
"Well they're your clothes, so you're only insulting yourself."

  
Oikawa grimaced, almost instantly starting to unzip the sweatshirt in order to try and tear it free from his body. "Good god, I've gotten so disgustingly lazy dating someone. Please tell me you'll let me stay single if this is what I dress like with you."

  
He truly hoped that was something of a joke, so while mustering up the strength to sound as flat as he could, he said, "Single you doesn't have as nearly as nice a wardrobe as you do at home."

  
He didn't know how Oikawa would handle that in this state, but he figured for right now, he'd have to settle for honesty. As the two of them continued down the hall, a number of people who had seen Iwaizumi enter the facility had begun to crop up, tossing a few questions toward him (as well as Oikawa) about their business there. To all of it, Iwaizumi simply said "No Comment" or that he would release a statement on it later. Much to Oikawa's surprise, Iwaizumi had not been lying about his position.

  
And it could be further explained as they entered the gold, black and white marble lobby where photographers and interviewers alike shot out from the woodwork with a barrage of questions. Somehow, as if on instinct, Iwaizumi clutched a hold of Oikawa's hand and began to lead him through the crowd, constantly reiterating to the masses that he'd release a statement later. This was no time to do so, and it would have to wait until later.

  
He took this moment to appreciate the life he felt in Oikawa's hand again. It wasn't silicone-textured. Maybe it was because he could tell this was Oikawa once more, not just some cheap duplicate. This was the very person that he had fallen in love with years ago, and even if Iwaizumi was not someone that he loved in return, he could at least try to make the best of it. Fingers laced methodically between Oikawa's -- his palms glowing with delicate hues from the circuits just beneath the surface -- the light humming vibration of the living wires pulsing against Iwaizumi's own palm.

  
Maybe it was a buried commonplace gesture for Oikawa too, but his fingers laced back, clutching Iwaizumi's hand as they bobbed and weaved through the lobby, making their way to the open street.

  
Maybe a part of him did remember.

  
It was a mad dash with footwork to rival ballet or rhythmic hip hop -- take your pick. But it was rapid, tip-toeing and fluid motion through the crowd with the bumps and bangs of colliding with strangers as they made a break toward freedom. A much needed freedom from the claustrophobia of the media.

  
And it all resulted in an entertained smile from Oikawa and the laughter of someone who hadn't seen excitement in a while.

  
"Oh, that was fun!" Oikawa announced as he and Iwaizumi continued down the street toward the nearest train station to take them back to their shared flat. "Felt like high school and playing volleyball again, but you know. Without the ball."

  
It was that smile. The kind that Iwaizumi saw when Oikawa gazed at stars. The stupid one that was often followed up by some comment about aliens or milk bread. Innocent. Starry-eyed and naive, but excited about everything.

  
"It was, wasn't it?" Iwaizumi said, knowing that most of the time when they ended up slipping away from paparazzi, they usually wound up exhausted and out of breath, often having had the need to run from the more tenacious media hounds.

  
"Yeah, but there's still one thing." Oikawa added. Iwaizumi, for a split second, felt this had suggested a more intimate gesture from his lover, anticipating him to lean forward and kiss him sweetly and to say " _Surprise. I was teasing you this whole time._ " But truthfully, he knew better than that. But god, would he wish this was the case anyways.

  
"Oh yeah?" he inquired.

  
"Could you please let go of my hand? You're still being forward, Iwaizumi-san, and I'd rather you didn't get so close."

  
So much for wishful thinking.

* * *

 

Upon returning to the apartment, a cold-handed Iwaizumi proceeded to remove a few of his personal things from the bedroom, including the engagement ring he'd purchased for Oikawa, and placed them in the living room. With a sigh he began to strip the sheets, retrieving fresh ones from the bathroom's linen closet to redress the bed.

  
"Since I'm guessing you won't feel right about sharing a bed with me, the bedroom's all yours later tonight. I'll take the couch." he said as he slipped new cases on to the pillows. "Though, kinda hoping that the harddrive in the bed might refresh your memory." Between each pillow and each tuck of the sheets at the corner, Iwaizumi had begun to send a text to Akaashi, begging him to start accessing Oikawa's back-up memories on the server and to begin the torrent.

  
"Funny, but I still don't think I can really believe you. Although -- if it is true." Making his way past Iwaizumi Oikawa opened up the closet, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced towards the other. "You're not lying about the wardrobe."

  
"Of course I'm not. I'm not lying about any of it! Holy shit, come on. Just look at the photographs in here. We're _always_ together! Can't you at least see that we're in a relationship?!"

  
"If this is how you treated me, you don't deserve me. You're so mean!"

  
"I'm _mean_ because I don't want to _lose_ what I have with you!" Iwaizumi found himself shouting, surprised even at himself. He'd been repeating a silent mantra, saying to himself that he would not get mad, nor would he yell or even show the slightest bit of irritation toward Oikawa for this situation. It wasn't his fault, as far as he could assume, and so there was no reason to become angry with him.

  
"Well you're sure as hell going to lose whatever it was with this attitude! I wouldn't be surprised if I deleted my memories of you on purpose!" Oikawa's tone had become hostile, snorting and huffing as if he were jilted in ways a lover had never become before. "Go on, tell me, what sort of nasty thing did you say to me before I lost all memories of this bullshit relationship, _dear_."

  
If stress and anxiety could be compared to that of an explosive (which they certainly could be) Iwaizumi's heart was seconds from erupting. If this is how an adult Oikawa acted without the development of their relationship in their history, how would he manage this? How would he be able to tolerate him while he was restored. A small beeping from his phone and Iwaizumi opened it to find a response from Akaashi, reading: " _We're on the wait list. 48th in the queue. Scheduled torrent date will be in about six months, figured you wouldn't like this so Yuuji is retrieving us faster access to at least begin the download. Have patience. With me, and with Oikawa._ "

  
Patience.

  
That was certainly something. Something that Iwaizumi was not in the mood to have with the nasty way Oikawa was speaking to him. But he had always had patience with him. With his childish commentary. His goofy nature. His seeming inability to take anything seriously. With the exception of their relationship of course.

  
" _I'll be patient. Hurry please._ " was sent back to Akaashi as Iwaizumi placed himself within closer proximity to Oikawa.

  
"You want to know what nasty thing I said to you?" Iwaizumi snorted as he found his pockets weighed down by the ring from a few days prior. Hand fished around within the recces, fussing with the bit of metal as he pulled it out, fingers pinched around it as he held it up for Oikawa to examine.

  
"I asked you to marry me, and if you think that's nasty, I'll have you know -- you said yes."

 

 

In order for an individual to have clearance to the Global Synthetic Data Network, clearance must always be obtained. Primary access to the Network is reserved for government and military personnel only, with the exception of various corporations. The GSDN is utilized by various organizations within the world to upload data obtained by individuals for usage by elite individuals in positions of power.

  
The GSDN has been successful in preventing instances of wartime espionage by allowing only individuals with government sanctioned clearance to access the Network either when it comes to the uploading or retrieval of data. The goal of the GSDN was to allow for individuals who had stumbled upon various guarded secrets or suggestive intel, to upload their memory of the event to a server. Once uploaded the data could be deleted from an individuals hard drive, making it more difficult for one to dish out secrets if tortured for information.

  
Given that the Global Synthetic Data Network's primary usage is for government or military access, usage by civilians is rare and can only be used in dire situations. Researchers have some clearance in accessing it, but only upon being cleared from various backgrounds checks to verify that the user is not a threat to global intel.

  
For Akaashi Keiji to receive a placement of forty-eight in the queue for the GSDN was a stroke of good luck. Had he been anyone else, receiving a position anything sooner than in the early thousands was rare and potentially impossible. Akaashi Keiji had been cleared several times, as he was responsible for uploading and downloading individuals nearly every day. But number forty-eight was still too low for his liking. With a colleague in desperate need of earlier access, he had to move things along.

  
And thus, Terushima Yuuji came into play. With his hacker skills placed in (as far as Akaashi was concerned) the right hands, he was able to bypass the queue and break into the server (almost) undetected. A crack of his knuckles and a cry of "You've got three minutes to find his data before I'm kicked out." was all Akaashi needed to hear as he began typing in commands on his own computer to seek out the model number and the data-files for Oikawa's Synthetic.

  
"Accessing file," Akaashi murmured as he began to click the file, accepting the terms as the pop-up requesting he open the client to begin the download. "Bokuto, latch on to Oikawa's IP and reroute the torrent to his hard drive."

  
"Oooon it~" Bokuto sang as he stretched out in his seat, eyes closing and making an audible 'bing!' noise as he announced he'd opened the gateway.

  
"Begin torrent."

 

 

And no sooner did the torrent begin did the slightest, most gentle words came from Oikawa's lips as he looked over the ring, a flickering of binary code flashing before his eyes. Fingers clapsed around the ring, pinching it from Iwaizumi's grasp as he held it up, curiously.

  
"I did say yes, didn't I?"

  
Of course he did.


	5. #ffdab9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss me? Hiatus is over and the next chapter is actually almost complete too so that means we're back to our regularly scheduled updates! I jumped the gun a little early because this chapter required a LOT of world building and backstory and I wanted to make sure that was all solid while working on the next installments too. That being said we do have a couple of small side stories coming out by both myself and iridisal so keep your eyes peeled!
> 
> At this point, we're going to finally get to see some of the world beyond Iwaizumi and Oikawa's relationship and we're only going to get deeper!
> 
> I suppose a part of me is apologizing for the lack of Iwaizumi and Oikawa this chapter but trust me. You'll see why soon enough.
> 
> On another note, I did want to put it out there that I have made a writing twitter AND a writing Tumblr. I'm working on cross-posting all my work on the Tumblr, and my Twitter is going to include a fair bit of my commentary on the chapters as well as some outlining if you'd like some insight!
> 
> Tumblr: samsara-san  
> Twitter: @SamsaraWrites

"Kageyama Tobio, our records show that you've experienced war time hardships that you feel are traumatic enough to warrant the immediate removal of said events from your memories, is this correct?"

Sitting before a panel of experts, a young Kageyama sat with his hands neatly folded in his lap. His suit fit awkwardly around his entire everything. Too tight in some places, too loose in others but it was the only one he owned, and despite it being the military issued formal wear, it never fit quite right. With muscle definition gained in some areas and lost in others, a well-tailored suit was out of reach. Of course, the suit was the least of his problems.

"That is correct." he responded, the cobalt circuits in his neck pulsed slowly with his heartbeat.

The room was empty aside for this panel of five experts and the soldier, as was customary for these sort of hearings. From the far, right side of the room a mirror hung upon the wall, likely a two way mirror with curious onlookers on the other side. This was an age where everyone knew what was going on with everyone else, so surely privacy mattered little. Thoughts were the only true privacy anymore, and for Synthetics in a world of hackers, privacy only lasted so long.

With a silence looming throughout the room that was namely caused by the shuffling of papers and analyzing of documentation laying before the panel, it would appear that a final announcement of whether or not Kageyama Tobio would be granted the removal of his wartime memories was finally at hand.

"You do understand that if the panel elects to accept your proposal that these memories of war service will be permanently removed from your memory and will be in no means attainable once removed?" the gentleman in the center of the panel asked.

It was a joke, really. The five panelists were all Organic. Not a single Synthetic sat among the panel, not a single former soldier either. To think that a group of individuals who had never served in a war, and never had to understand the struggles that came with being a Synthetic human being, had been given the authority to determine whether someone with artificial processing could remove traumatic events from their memories. It was some sort of sick joke.

The fortunate thing was that with Organic memories, they can become fuzzy and faded over time. With Synthetics, the memories always continued to exist in crisp detail and in high definition. There was no fading of data. It would always be present until removed by force.

"Yes, sir." Kageyama announced. Though he was unimpressed by the panel before him and the overall social backwardness of how the ruling works, his lips remained sealed and his opinions on the matter tucked away. Sharing his thoughts on this sort of situation and his displeasure with the lack of Synthetic representation would have likely hindered his position.

"And for the record, please state why it is that you find it necessary for these memories to be removed from your internal processor."

A hard swallow and Kageyama's throat felt thick, as if coated in glue that had run cold and clumped. Thickness that made speaking feel nearly impossible. He rose to his feet, to show politeness as he bowed, lips parted and he projected, forcing his voice to rip past the blockage in his throat.

"The events I experienced in war zones have made it difficult for me to enjoy my life at home with my," he had to pick his words carefully. Legally, he was not married. Socially and privately, he was -- married for the past few years to Hinata Shouyo and Hitoka Yachi. The two of them had married (for tax purposes, as they were always more beneficial to opposite sex couples than same sex) and considered themselves married to Kageyama as well in a triple, polyamorous relationship. "Colleagues as well as my family members. My peer group can verify that I have been stricken with episodes of panic and overwhelming stress that has made it complicated for me to interact with most individuals without increasing bouts of paranoia and fear. What I experienced at war has been enough to cause my entire system to shut down and go offline for extended periods."

"And what did you witness that was so traumatic?"

The glue grew thicker as his fingers clutched the hat of his uniform within his grasp. "Sir, I am not at liberty to share this information as it is classified." he declared, opting to set the hat down.

"And why is that information classified? The panel requires, in order to be approved for military service-sanctioned memory removal, that all information regarding hardships be revealed."

"Sir, with all due respect my experiences involve information that could jeopardize not only the nation of Japan, but the entire Synthetic population."

"If that's the case," the panel spoke up, seeming to be interrupting Kageyama's announcement. "The information you hold is too valuable to be deleted. Memory removal denied."

Like a bullet -- which Kageyama was all too familiar with feeling -- he felt those very words shoot through him. Piercing flesh, metal and circuitry alike, it tore through him causing him to begin approaching the panel, his fingers clenched into fists. "That's a load of shit!" he snapped at them. "I've already uploaded the information to the servers! You'd rather let me suffer with this --"

"Your memory removal has been denied for the betterment of the nation, Kageyama Tobio." the lead panelist said as he stood, collecting the paperwork as he began to file away from the table with the others. "You are dismissed."

"Like hell I am!" Kageyama snapped, starting to go after them. "I'm not going anywhere, you son of a bitch! I can't sleep at night with this shit on my --"

And before another word could get out. The panel had exited, leaving Kageyama alone in a vacant room with only the people on the other side of the mirror to watch his outburst.

What he had seen, and what he had learned...If word got out, no one would be able to sleep soundly any longer.

He had deliberately asked Hinata and Yachi to stay home. They were too important to him for him to want to let them experience this sort of thing. He knew that seeing councils about having memories removed for mental health reasons was often tricky. Given that he had been a part of an elite force, there were private details he couldn't disclose. Not with doctors, or counselors. Only his superiors in the army and that was all. He was a part of covert operations, and if anything he knew got out from him or the servers, he'd be for a world of trouble.

The plus side to Kageyama being covert is that he was one of the most difficult Synthetics in the entire world to hack. Even Terushima Yuuji of Fukurodani couldn't tap into him. Kageyama was a hard book to read and a harder diary to crack.

Pulling open the phone he had installed within him on his wrist, Kageyama began to type a message to Yachi and Hinata, telling the two loves of his life he would be home shortly and to make a comfy space in the bed for him. He would need it.

"Excuse me," Looking up as he finished writing the message, Kageyama found himself looking into the eyes - somewhat violet in complexion despite the lack of circuitry visible on the other. "I couldn't help but hear your panel didn't go over very well." He was a little smaller than Kageyama, his hair a warm tone of brown that contrasted his pale skin quite nicely.

"Tch, you were listening?" Kageyama snorted as he turned the screen on his arm off.

"I was watching from the viewing room, actually." the individual said, reaching a hand past the closures of the well tailored suit he wore fastened over his chest. From within he retrieved a small business card, which he handed to Kageyama. "I'm a Synthetic Military lawyer, Shirabu Kenmaru. I'd like to help you out."

"Trust me, I've already spoken with lawyers --"

"I'm not just any lawyer. I work with Synthetic psychologists to receive clearance for all soldiers with post-traumatic stress. Or in your case, post-traumatic backlog, the Synthetic equivalent." Shirabu said quietly. "Covert operations or no, I can likely obtain you clearance for your memory removal, or if you like, I can help you sue for damages. The panel you've just seen has been denying nearly every claim they've received in the past year and I could help you."

After reading over the business card, Kageyama pocketed it and examined the individual, somewhat dubious about his intent. He knew liars, that was one perk being in the war had given him, but Shirabu's words seemed sincere, though spontaneous. "You can get me clearance to have memories of an event only seven people in the entire country remember, two of which are now in a coma?"

Shirabu nodded, "Of course. In fact if you have the time right now, I can actually schedule you for an appointment if you’re too busy to see me today." A small cellphone was procured from another internal coat pocket and he began tapping on it with a stylus. "If you were to tell me a time that's good for you to meet with me and one of my psychologists, I can schedule you."

Swaying on his feet, somewhat apprehensive, but still liking the idea of being able to avoid jumping through all these hoops, Kageyama combed a hand through his dark hair, indigo eyes darting off into the distance, contemplating the idea at hand. "Got anything for tomorrow?" he asked. "Can't guarantee I'll go through with it in the end because I've gotta watch my back but we can talk."

"What time during the day?"

"Afternoon?"

"One, two or three-thirty?"

"Two. This your address on here?" Shirabu glanced at the card quickly, nodding. "That's kind of a sketchy part of town. What sort of lawyer works down there?"

"Oh, you're mistaken. We may be close to that part of town, but we're not located within it. It's a temporary location, besides. We're normally across the street from the Nekoma laboratories, but we're renovating right now, so we've moved to a temporary location until such a time the building is suitable for occupation again."

"I gotcha, just want to be sure I don't need to come fully weaponized."

"I assure you, there's no need for you to ever lift up a weapon again."

* * *

"Are you sure it's a good idea, Kageyama?" Hinata had warned as he looked up from the (surprisingly) successful meal he was preparing for the three of them. "Didn't your psychologist tell you to just see who he recommended?"

"He's a lawyer, not a doctor." Kageyama groaned as he sat down at the table, running hands through newly disheveled dark hair. "Besides, do you really think me having night terrors every night is going to be tolerable for much longer."

"Th-they're not that bad!" Yachi insisted as she began setting out plates, although she was enthusiastic and supportive, the slight stammer in her voice indicated that it was at least somewhat troublesome.

"Thanks for lying, but I know they're not getting easier for any of us." Kageyama added as he toyed with the idea of asking Hinata to bring out the six pack of beer in the fridge. He wasn't much of a drinker, but well. Times were tough. "I'm just going to meet with him tomorrow, see how things go, if it sounds good, I'll bring you guys next time I meet with him."

"What was his name again?" Hinata asked, bringing several bowls of rice to the table for the meal.

"Shirabu Kenji?"

"Kenmaru."

"That sounds like a cartoon character." Yachi said thoughtfully, almost humored by the name as she passed behind Kageyama, running her fingers delicately through his hair, rubbing gently at his scalp. "Maybe we should start calling you Kagemaru. That'd be cute!!"

"I'll pass."

"Noooo!" Hinata chimed in peering over the counter that divided their kitchen from their dining room. "Kagemaru's super cute!! Kagemaru Tobinyo~ Like a kitty!"

"I'm leaving you. Both of you."

Of course, they were all close enough at this point that they knew he wasn't serious.

* * *

****  
  


Kageyama didn't return home after his meeting. Instead, upon arriving at the lab he was requested at, he had been restrained, temporarily blinded and apprehended by a number of individuals and brought into the lab without any explanation why. Though of course he struggled, he had been employed as part of an elite task force in the military. He knew how to escape from situations like this. He'd been trained to.

But when the people involved in the abduction are trained to deal with people like Kageyama, escape wasn't as feasible as the others made it seem. They'd learned to use drugs, jabbed into Kageyama's neck with needles that may have not been sterilized, the sort that could render Synthetics immobile even without a bloodstream. Restraints that bound to synthetic flesh to make it impossible to break out of, and chemicals that threw artificial eyes offline.

In order to render Kageyama entirely immobile, they did everything possible, allowing them to strap him down and begin their work.

He was useful to them. Not him per se, but the memories of his time at war. The information he had gathered regarding the task force he had been assigned to. He had intel regarding foreign weapons and policies that were unheard of beyond those walls. Kageyama's knowledge regarding the nation's security was enough to make his very existence a weapon.

The room in question was a transfer station. Rooms of this sort were found at every major lab in the region. Blacked out walls with only the soft glow of components woven into the framework to give off enough light for the people within to be able to see their way around surrounded the occupants. Always against one wall was a single table, closer to a bed if anything, that extended from the wall with a hood, perhaps mimicking the hoods over stoves, that rose over it by about six feet. Within the recess in the wall where the table began, monitors glowed with cables hanging down from all around it. Electrodes, used to be placed all over the skull of the individual who would lay upon the table, used to record brain function and all memories within. With a person strapped to the table and electrodes in place the computer attached to the monitor would slowly begin uploading information from the person -- using technology that still remained mostly confidential -- preparing them for their new body.

Other than this table, the room was practically empty. No tables, or chairs or anything to speak of. It was crucial the room remained this way and even more crucial that people would remain out of the room while a transfer was conducted, lest brain activity be picked up by the transferring electrodes.

But this case was not that of a need for a transfer. This was an instance where Kageyama was being held hostage, and this transfer room was the best place to restrain him in the mean time.

"Hold him down on the table." A voice spoke, a voice belonging to Shirabu as he entered the room from the opposite side of the abductors. "We need to keep his body in tact while we suppress the data we need."

He stood silently on the opposite end of the room, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit -- three pieces with a vest concealed beneath the jacket -- with a pink, collared shirt peeking out around the edges. Pink was sort of a thing among Shiratorizawa, and he was in no position to deny it. Cracking his neck slightly, something flickered along his neck, his pulse slowly coming to life. Like a child’s glowstick, Shirabu's cracking of his joints caused trickles of a glowing shade of rose along his artificial veins.

It was dirty work, but Shirabu was a an of intelligence agency. He was an informant and unlike all the others at Shiratorizawa, he was built for this. He had never been the same as the others, focused on their mission of isolating Synthetics from Organics. He was a different sort. He was an intellectual. Information was his goal, not social discourse. That was why he was in the body he was in.

Shirabu was not actually Shirabu, he wasn't even a naturally created Synthetic either. He was an AI, much different from most of the others, save for the one he considered his personal attack dog. Originating from a program, designed initially by Ushijima, his body came from, well, outside sources. But it was a body with a gold mine of data.

Its former occupant had flown the coop, deliberately deleting in a means of Synthetic suicide about a year prior. But even with the life deleted, there were still files upon files of information that was all too good to pass up. And it was this well of information that was why he needed Kageyama. He could contribute to what he'd already uncovered that lay dormant in the body he'd occupied.

Of course, Kageyama was the second individual Shirabu had obtained to contribute to his collection, but that was all due to be explained and understood later.

"Why're you so bossy, it's not like you Synthetics rule the world --" spoke one of the individuals strapping Kageyama to the transfer table.

"We do." Shirabu quickly retorted as he approached, tone nonchalant as he glanced down at the incapacitated body of the young soldier. "Organics are dying out and we're taking over. With 68.7% of the human population already converted into Synthetics, and with advancements in reproducing and creating Synthetic infants, we do rule the world."

He was not the sort to smile often, but when he did, miniscule circuits within his cheeks, like dimples, lit upon the scheming Synthetic's face. "You say that like everyone is going to get tra--"

"What's your name?" Shirabu interrupted the individual. He was somewhat stockily built with bright but piercing eyes, dark hair hanging over his forehead and tapered to his skull.

"Uh," he began, stammering as he was pulled away from his work in strapping the unconscious soldier. "Goshiki, Goshiki Tsutomu."

"Hm," Shirabu didn't acknowledge the name initially but after seeming to mull it around in his head. "Goshiki-san, meet me in the next transfer room, I'd like to pick your brain, if you don't mind."

Of course, "pick your brain" had many meanings behind it.

* * *

****  
  


With Goshiki having departed, Shirabu turned his attention back to the Synthetic on the table, now completely strapped down with his electrodes placed upon his head. Specific information lay dormant in his head, the very information he had been seeking to have removed from his memories in order to move on with his life. It was all data that was much too precious to be uploaded to a server and then forgotten about until such a time arose where it would be relevant.

It was relevant to Shirabu now.

A hand combed through the dark hair that hung over Kageyama's face as Shirabu stood watch, planning on beginning the upload of his data momentarily. He didn't feel any sort of fondness for the youth on the table, but there was the processing of background applications in Shirabu's mind that had begun to hum, noting that the user of the body prior to him had some sort of relation to him. It was only natural, given that the previous occupant had been affiliated with Kageyama during the war, only to have vanished in combat, supposedly having deserted his allies.

"I wonder if he was fond of you." Shirabu mused aloud, the 'he' and 'you' in question being indeterminate as to which pronoun applied to Kageyama. "I can't quite tell." No matter the case, Shirabu tore his hand away from Kageyama, placing it against the wall where he proceeded to press a few switches before exiting the vacant room. Thus began the upload.

With the room glowing in steady strobes from white to nearly blinding shades of pink, the electrodes placed upon the head of the Synthetic began to record all the data in his mind, slowly picking out the pieces that were relevant to Shirabu's interests. Of course the thorough analysis of Kageyama's memories didn't really seem high on his list of curiosities, but hindering him certainly was.

As he glanced over a rough summary appearing on the monitors in the room behind the transfer station, he was able to view a couple little tidbits of data that he could certainly approve of tampering with. While the upload continued Shirabu opted to take a page from his superiors book. Altering memories of individuals to better control a Synthetic. In the small thumbnails of data, a young, bright eyed red-headed male and a blonde girl were often visible, many times in concerned, doting fashions.

"System: Locate all instances of individuals featured in Program File 87." Shirabu ordered the machine while he settled down in a leather-framed chair at the front of the desk. "Isolate all instances and quarantine."

Leaning back in the chair watching as Program File 87 was collected, along with thousands upon thousands of other collected memories of the red-headed boy and the blonde girl. Absolutely perfect. A smirk tugged at Shirabu's lips as the quarantining process began, announcing another command. "System, erase prior forty-eight hours of memory. Restore to last working configuration prior to yesterday's date."

And with that smirk growing steadily more smug, Shirabu watched as the data he had selected became filed away as a buried background program in the other Synthetics mind, and the remainder of the data became easily molded to his own whims. No sooner did the files become buried away did the computer stumble upon the very files he was seeking. With a warning message, revealing that the rest was password protected, a single tap upon a few keys unlocked the content, allowing Shirabu access to confidential data only for the eyes of an elite group known as S.E.T.T.E.R.S,.

* * *

****  
  


A few hours later, laying upon the same table, a confused young man who was pretty sure his name was Kageyama Tobio, woke with a start at the sound of someone screaming. Looking around frantically, Kageyama was in a state of panic. Last he had recalled he was at his meeting to receive clearance for his memory erasure and now -- Did he get approved?

Closing his eyes, he began to search his skull, only to find that the very vivid images of war, infiltrating enemy lines and interfacing with enemy servers, was still fresh in his mind. He hadn't been approved. So why on earth was he laying on the cold metal of a transfer table? Why was he closed into these rooms, and why had he heard someone screaming.

Rattling against the metal restraints that held his arms and legs still on the table for the process, Kageyama began to thrash, trying to break his way from the holdings. No, no, he was making too much noise. He knew better than this. He could easily get out of these, couldn't he? He'd been trained to do this without causing a scene. It would just involve having to dislocate all of his sockets and reassemble himself bit by bit as he freed himself.

"I thought you were supposed to be quiet with those tactical measures." a voice spoke as the door upon one side of the room slid open to reveal Shirabu, removing a pair of suspiciously red gloves from over the wrists of the pastel pink shirt he wore beneath his suit. "You've looked better, you know."

"The hell are you?" Kageyama barked as Shirabu approached him, slowly unfastening the metal restraints around his arms, smiling this plastic grin that he felt looked natural on his face.

"Me?" he asked, lifting one of Kageyama's arms to examine the glowing, royal blue circuitry. "No one in particular." Tracing a finger along the vein-like circuits in his wrist, he hummed, watching how it flickered in the pulsing, glowing room. "Just your boss. S.E.T.T.E.R.S., still has use for you, Kageyama Tobio."

And just like that, the ball had been set into motion.

* * *

S.E.T.T.E.R.S., a Japanese organization formed within the past ten years under wraps as far deep as possibly imaginable. The precise number of individuals in S.E.T.T.E.R.S. and their ultimate goal has yet to be determined, but their aim is simple. Keep the world safe for Synthetic and Organic humans alike. How they do this remains under tight lock and key. Very few members ever meet the others outside of their own factions.

Kageyama, shortly after enlisting in the military was sought out for S.E.T.T.E.R.S. after discovering that he was quite capable of interfacing with computers, not only Synthetics in a time of crisis. With the ability to almost instantly download any content he saw necessary, Kageyama was recruited as part of this secret military organization. During his time at war, the young man had stumbled upon something that had caused for an early retreat from his faction, making him a crucial asset to what the rest of S.E.T.T.E.R.S believed to be national security.

Along with him, only three other confirmed individuals knew precisely what that was, and none of them were coming forward anytime soon.

* * *

****  
  


"Ahhh, Daichi, Ennoshita's battery is nearing zero again, do you have his charge port ready?" a rather polite voice rang up from the almost pink interior of the cozy lab located in the eastern part of the city. "You've had him running around too much today, haven't you?"

The soft voice of the Synthetic in question rose up, laughing sweetly in response. "It's fine, Sugawara-san, really. I can get myself hooked up on my own."

Ennoshita Chikara had been a rather unfortunate case of a foster Synthetic. Having contracted and becoming incredibly ill with Wakatoshi Syndrome at twenty-two years of age, the analysis from the Karasuno labs and foster center was that Ennoshita would likely not survive being transferred into an artificial body. He had a success rate of 48%, and somehow that window worked in his favor. When his family had been contacted about the successful transfer, Sawamura Daichi had found that the number was to the wrong home, and he was informed that the previous occupants, those related to Ennoshita, had moved away.

Abandoned and too old to go into a foster program, but still too young to manage on his own, Daichi opted to allow the Synthetic to stay with him and Sugawara in his lab at Karasuno. With such a low success rate for the transfer, Ennoshita had been plagued with what many would call medical complications upon his transfer. He often could not manage being outside of the Karasuno labs for more than an hour or two due to a quickly draining internal battery (that was dealing with some rather tricky bugs tied in with how advanced the virus had affected Ennoshita before the transfer).

"Don't be so protective of him, Chikara." Sugawara hummed, giving him a playful scolding as he began to extract cables from the back of his neck to hook into the other’s. "I'll share my charge with you until you get settled --"

"I'm fine Sugawara," Ennoshita repeated. "A five percent charge will get me across the room, trust me!"

Karasuno's lab in the foster center wasn't a particularly large lab but it was adequately laid out. It was a single, wide-open primary lab for daily work and a small room off to the side prepared for emergency transfers. Other than Fukurodani, most labs often appeared darker in color, often almost foreboding to the visitor, but Karasuno liked to convince people that it's rather mature sounding name did not mean that the insides weren't friendly. The primary lab was decorated with houseplants among all the computers and work tables,  many belonging to Sugawara and Ennoshita, who had become fond of organic life after their transfers. Houseplants were expensive in this day and age, often having to be grown in private farms and fetching rather high sums for even small cacti or ferns. In spite of their rarity, Sugawara and Ennoshita liked to indulge.

Crossing the lab to the small chair shaped charge port that remained surrounded by a few cozier contraptions -- an electric tea kettle, a small bookshelf and a small pile of blankets -- Ennoshita settled himself down, and brought a USB style cable out from the chair to plug into a small socket in his neck that remained visible almost at all times. Even with the transfer, one could still call Ennoshita feeble. Hurrying over to him to make sure he was alright, Sugawara began to dote on him, almost like a parent as he held up one of the blankets, offering it to him.

"I'm okay, really!" Ennoshita insisted as he gestured to Daichi who was busying himself over a computer with heavy eyes and a rather empty cup of coffee. "Daichi could use it though. I haven't seen him move in a few hours."

"Hm, no wonder you've been run ragged!" Sugawara insisted only for Ennoshita to flick the wrapper from one of his tea bags at the Synthetic. "Daichi. Pull yourself away from your work for ten minutes, your lab assistant's on his last legs!"

Of course this earned another scolding from Ennoshita who thought he was quite comfortable and capable, even with his drained battery.

Lifting his head up from his desk, it would be known that Daichi had actually somehow fallen asleep working, and the entire compilation of text on his screen was simply his fingers on autopilot, recording absolutely nothing but gibberish. "Hu-what?" he asked sleepily as he blinked a couple times to find that Ennoshita had cozied himself up on his charge base and Sugawara was in the process of boiling water for the three of them.

"Take a break." Sugawara snorted, scolding the technician as he beckoned him to slide over to them from his desk. "Whatever you're doing isn't nearly as important as your health, is it?" Grumbling, Daichi rose from his seat, approaching the two Synthetics, pulling up a different chair to sit with them as Sugawara gauged the temperature on the kettle and began pouring the tea for the three of them.

"It's actually pretty important, I'm arranging for a transfer for a friend of mine. "Daichi grumbled as he took the cup. "You know Kuroo, right? Well, turns out he's victim of one of those WS-hosts. The kind that deliberately catch the shit and pass it to people for fun. Seems like some girl he was seeing recently was one of them and she passed a pretty volatile case of the shit to him."

"So you're arranging to transfer him?" Ennoshita confirmed. "Why not just have him come here?"

"He doesn't think he's that sick, that's the problem." Daichi muttered as he began to sip quietly, barely able to slurp in any of the beverage due to the temperature still being too hot for him. "He thinks he just has a cold, but since Kenma's been with him so often, he's been giving me diagnostics on his condition and well, it's not good."

"So he's in denial of needing to be transferred..." Sugawara sighed, sitting on the edge of Ennoshita's charging seat. "Does he still think he's invincible? I thought once Terushima got arrested he realized he wouldn't be able to keep this up forever."

"No, he got clean when that happened," Daichi interjected. "You know he was using, shit, what was it called. It was that one designer drug. I can't keep 'em straight anymore. There's a new one every week."

"We get the point," Sugawara added, scoffing slightly as he proceeded to quite comfortably sip his own tea thanks to his higher heat tolerance. "So he's clean but he's still an idiot."

With not another second too soon, the door to the lab slid open, a smaller build, partially blonde individual leading in another, his expression surprisingly concerned. The normally apathetic appearing Kozume Kenma had entered the lab, followed by the fair-amount-taller Kuroo Tetsurou who's entire face happened to be glowing a bizarre shade of red, even for a fever.

"Speak of the devil," Daichi commented as he looked up at their guests, standing and setting his tea on one of the work tables as he approached the duo. "I had fallen asleep replying to Yaku, Kenma. Did you take my advice."

"Hm?" Kenma commented as he glanced from Daichi to Kuroo whose eyes were puffy and darker than Daichi recalled them being. "Oh, yeah. Turns out Yaku was getting pretty upset with Kuroo for continuing to bail on his appointments."

With arms crossed, Daichi glanced up at Kuroo who, as he discovered as he looked him over further, had been crying a surprising amount. "Appointments? Kuroo. Care to explain?" ucking a bit of a runny nose back into his sinuses, Kuroo snorted, avoiding looking at Daichi directly.

"He won't speak." Kenma added. "There was a glitch in his transfer." Rolling up his sleeves, Kuroo opted to show Daichi the shimmering LEDS of circuits glowing on his wrists, still not daring to say a word. "I'm guessing since apparently Kuroo kept skipping his meetings with Yaku in preparation for transfer, he glitched him on purpose."

"So he can't speak?" Ennoshita chimed up from his charge port, starting to stand up, only for Sugawara to quite promptly sit down upon him to keep him from removing his base.

"Not can't. Won't."

A smirk pulled at Daichi's lips as he shared a quiet laugh, poking Kuroo in the gut almost tauntingly. "Won't speak? What, cat got your tongue?"

"Oh shut up- _nya_." Kuroo snapped, his voice slurring into a very noticeable meowing sound after his final syllable, only to cover his mouth quickly.

"Did -- did you just meow at me?" Daichi spat, eyes growing wide at the speech tick, covering his mouth to hide his laugh.

Kuroo was no longer sick.

****  
  



	6. #c71585

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOHOOO. This chapter is a hell of a lot longer than I intended for it to be! Special thanks to Raernix for being an absolutely FANTASTIC beta for this fic. They've been an absolute angel in helping with this chapter and the last one. We're a really good team regarding grammatical editing and I'm so thrilled to have them around! Anyways, we're back on to the IwaOi scheme of things and from here, things are only going to get more intense! Also as a reminder I have a writing twitter and tumblr that I'm encouraging people to follow for some insight on my writing and such.
> 
> Twitter: @SamsaraWrites  
> Tumblr: samsara-san
> 
> Anyways, as always thank you all so much for your support! I have concluded if I can get this fic to 2k+ in hits by AWA (Anime Weekend Atlanta), I will cosplay Synthetic Oikawa to this con! So maybe this'll happen at this rate!

Oikawa could only remember that he had said yes. With the ring now back on his finger, he found it suddenly acceptable to believe that there had been something between him and Iwaizumi. What that relationship entailed, he wasn't quite sure but there was something quite endearing about wearing the ring that so nicely matched his circuitry. And so, he sat across from Iwaizumi in the apartment he apparently shared with him as. Frustrated, he continuously got up to check the dinner he was making the two of them and sit back down, struggling for a conversation starter.

"Would you like some help, Iwaizumi-san?" Oikawa asked as Iwaizumi stood for the fourteenth time to stir some sort of brown sauce he was making from some balsamic vinegar and cracked pepper. "I can cook, you know."

"Not as good as me." he quickly interjected. "You think you're a lot better than you really are, but when it comes to solid meals, that's my job."

"I'm pretty sure I know how to put rice in a bowl, Iwaizumi-san," Oikawa snorted, standing up to enter the kitchen to assist him, popping open the top of the rice cooker. No sooner did the still sticky, wooden end of Iwaizumi's spatula slap upon Oikawa's hand, leaving a brownish splat on the back.

Oikawa’s hand withdrew accompanied with a yelp, more shocked than hurt from the contact from the cooking utensil. Reaching over the stove, he tore off a piece of paper towel and wiped away the residue, lips formed into an irritated scowl. “What was that for?!” Looking up from the stove, Iwaizumi’s brow rose, momentarily taken aback by Oikawa’s mewling. Oikawa ought to know better, it was almost every night that he would have to remind his lover that he scooped his own rice. Day after day, he’d gently have to pull Oikawa aside and out of the kitchen while he put his own rice into a bowl, only for the following day for Oikawa to nag him all over again. Yet, as he spoke, it dawned on him. This time, Oikawa really didn’t remember. With the spatula back in the pan to tend to the reduction, a sigh slipped past his lips, glancing up with eyes softened in an apology to the Synthetic.

"You don't remember, but I'm picky about how my rice is scooped --"

This spurred a laugh from Oikawa, who deemed it to be a silly quirk as he grasped the rice scoop and began to dig it in. The same as it ever was, Oikawa insisting he could scoop Iwaizumi’s rice for him, the playful laugh that echoed in his mind, the way he thrust himself between Iwaizumi and the rice cooker as if to insist he was more than capable of assisting him. With a heavy heart, his hand pressed against Oikawa’s shoulder to move him aside, eyes narrowing to make a point. "Come on, don't patronize me."

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi began to speak, his gaze the same sort of firmness it often took when he was aiming to make a point with the other man. "I'm serious." he scoffed as he neck turning just so to look at Oikawa. "I have to scoop it. I need to do my rice my own way," laying the wooden spatula on the spoon rest, he plucked the rice scoop from Oikawa's hand, resting it on the counter. "You'll remember it eventually, I guess but. Just keep in mind that I don't like anyone helping me when I cook, okay?" For the longest time, it had been a back and forth between the two of them. Whenever Iwaizumi would be in the kitchen it was his job and his alone. When Oikawa took charge of the cooking, he never minded when Iwaizumi offered a hand, but he couldn’t ever quite grasp that it was not a mutual feeling. With eyes focusing on the rice scoop momentarily, lip caught between his teeth, he reached out to place a hand upon Oikawa’s shoulder, features washing over with melancholy. “You can do the dishes alright?”

Patience was something Iwaizumi desperately needed to remind himself of. After years with oikawa, Iwaizumi had prided himself on his patience, and his skill at navigating Oikawa’s personality, but this was not the same Oikawa he was familiar with. It was as if he had to put aside everything he knew of his lover and learn about who he was all over again. After all, this was a new Oikawa in a way, and Iwaizumi had every intention of learning all about him for a second time.

Relenting, and looking relatively displeased, Oikawa stepped away from him and returned to the table a few feet away. "I do not know what I see in you, but it's got to be something intense if I said yes to you proposing to me. How long had we been together again?"

"Not had. Are. We are together, and that's not the only ring to prove it." Iwaizumi grumbled as he began to reduce the balsamic further. "And we've been together since high school, I gave you a promise ring at our graduation.” With the spatula, Iwaizumi motioned toward their bedroom, which remained a partial study with a collection of Iwaizumi’s work, until they figured out a better arrangement. “It's on the desk in the other room if you want proof. There's a picture sitting with it."

"Do you say anything nicely? Since I met you it's been about 90% nastiness from you and I'm not sure this is worth my time." Oikawa whined, laying his arms across the table and pressing his cheek against the wood. "You're such an asshole to me."

"You know what, you need to see this from my perspective too, dumbass." Iwaizumi turned the burner down on the reduction and leaned over the counter to glower down at Oikawa, who was seated rather comfortably at the table, despite the tension in the air.. "The love of my life of the past ten years just had his goddamn memories of us together erased. I'm a little fucking angry, you know! And I've got all the damn right to be! How would you feel if you lost every memory of someone --"

"Well, pretty neutral. I wouldn't remember them."

"Don't speak, that's not what I meant." he quickly bit back after Oikawa's interruption. "Pretend you're me for a moment, huh? I am looking at my fiance. The _idiot_ who I've loved since I was a child. And that boy has absolutely no idea who I am and why we're planning on getting married. Someone I have spent my entire life adoring has no idea who I am anymore, and I don't even get the comfort in knowing that he'll be okay soon. Akaashi is downloading your memories from the server -- illegally, I might add -- and here is the love of my life, being even more inconsiderate to me than ever."

The reduction began to bubble, sizzling just slightly, turning Iwaizumi's attention back to the stove. To think that Oikawa, even with his memories being so shuffled, would still act like a child to him. They were in a relationship together, not a parent taking care of an unruly child. Like the bubbling in the pan, his blood too began to switch to a gentle simmer. He took a  sharp, long inhale which he held in, counting to ten silently to keep himself calm, followed by the exhale as he looked back at his memory-void fiance.

"I'm inconsiderate to you?" he asked, staring at his palms, entranced by the cool glow of his circuits within his hands.

"You're a child." Iwaizumi replied as he finally removed the reduction from the burner and instead brought a pan with par-grilled chicken to it instead. "You love me, but sometimes it's like you forget you're an adult and your life includes another person, not just yourself. You're selfish and whine about a lot of things and fuss over trivial shit."

"So why stay with me if I'm apparently so insufferable?"

"Because I love those things about you."

"You're a strange one, Iwaizumi-san." Oikawa murmured, scooting out from his chair, his feet sounding heavy on the floor as he appeared to be heading to the next room to leave Iwaizumi alone with his cooking.

He stared into the pan, the brown of balsamic vinegar still coating the wooden spatula as he pushed around the hunks of chicken breast to keep them from sticking. He dribbled a splatter of oil in order to make the job easier and would do well in keeping him from getting caught up in his thoughts and forgetting about the meat he was preparing.

Another push of the chicken and Iwaizumi felt himself pressed against the stove, the weight of another person behind him took him by surprise, causing the spatula to fall to the floor with a clatter.Oikawa had come up behind him and almost too affectionately for comfort pressed his chest against Iwaizumi's back, humming somewhat pleasantly.

"I think," Oikawa began as he wrapped his arms around the Iwaizumi’s chest, fingers enclosing around the ring finger his left hand. "That you," he continued as something metallic and somewhat warm began to slide over the first knuckle of the finger. It was too small for Iwaizumi's fingers but it still fit the top for now. Glancing down, Iwaizumi noted how the engagement ring was now on him rather than Oikawa. In that moment, he was convinced that Oikawa had somehow made a sneak attack on him, shoving his hand through Iwaizumi's chest to remove his beating heart. "May appreciate the love in this ring more than I would."

"You're rejecting me." Iwaizumi spoke aloud, looking at the impeccably selected ring. "You're not even going to believe me."

"I said so such thing, Iwaizumi-san." Oikawa said as he pulled back.. Turning around, Iwaizumi looked back at the Synthetic, noticing how the other male had slipped on a different ring. A band of white-gold and pale green gem, sat comfortably on Oikawa's hand. "I think, the ring that has more love in it should be yours for now. I'll take the one for new love and give it a test run. Iwaizumi ran his fingers over the engraved stars on the band, a faint smile playing on his lips. It was so tacky, but so was Oikawa. “A promise ring is something saying that you promise to love me right?"

Iwaizumi nodded, “No shit,” he said, adding his own personal commentary, retrieving another spatula to scrape the now sticking chicken on the pan.

Though unimpressed with the sarcasm from the man at the stove, Oikawa resumed, saying "Well, I'd like to see how true that is."

It was an interesting dialog to say the least. Iwaizumi could tell that there was some sort of struggle within Oikawa. Was he unsure of the depth of their relationship still? Or was he just not receptive? For the time being, it seemed likely that it could all be due to the trickling of memories in the Synthetic’s mind. Sincerity had always been one of Oikawa’s strong points, after all. As he scraped the cooked chicken from the pan, Iwaizumi had to conclude with a nod of his head that once more, patience was what would help him get by.

"Yeah. I guess I can go with that."

* * *

**  
**The meal progressed surprisingly nicely, all things considered, Oikawa mostly commented on how he was impressed that someone with as sour of a personality as Iwaizumi could prepare such savory meals. He would take it as a compliment. After all, if there was one thing he could say was a universal constant about his lover, was the underhanded compliments he delivered to him. Even without his presence in that thick skull, Iwaizumi was still being praised (somehow) by Oikawa Tooru. **  
**

With his too particular way of scooping his rice, Iwaizumi found one thing remained the same with eating meals with Oikawa at home. Iwaizumi always ate what he considered to be seventy-five percent of the dish. He could never eat all of it, it had been something about him his entire life. And in response, Oikawa would always clear away that remaining twenty-five percent. As Iwaizumi allowed Oikawa to at the very least clear the table, he lifted his rice bowl to find it empty, and Oikawa plucking a small clump of rice into his mouth as he discarded his chopsticks into the sink.

He was still the same, after all.

It was later than Iwaizumi had planned on when he found that Oikawa was still busying himself with the dishes, that he'd started to realize that, despite Oikawa's protesting and childish behavior, he didn't seem to be uncomfortable. Perhaps, in Oikawa's mind, he was still under the impression that this had always been his home. He didn't fumble when it came to putting the dishes away or finding the soap or drying rags. It all appeared to be second nature.

As Iwaizumi continued to eye Oikawa from across their apartment, it continued to dwell on him the very words Akaashi had said shortly before their departure from Fukurodani. There was still the possibility that Oikawa had ended up removing every last shred of his memories of the two of them from his mind. The squeezing in Iwaizumi's chest as he lounged about the somewhat worn down couch, forced him to draw in a quick inhale, surprised with himself for forgetting to breathe momentarily. Having picked up on the sound of the intake, Oikawa glanced over his shoulder, past the counter dividing the living space from the kitchen. For a split second, Iwaizumi knew the face that Oikawa had put on, it was the kind that was often followed with a dazzling smile and " _Iwa-chan, did you forget how to breathe again or do you just want my attention?_ "

God, did he ever want his attention.

"Is something wrong?" Oikawa asked, a brow raised, although he quickly covered his mouth with the dish rag he'd been using to wipe dry the dinner plates. Without even having to ask, the Synthetic already knew something was wrong. "Sorry...," he muttered, gaze falling back down to the cleaning, avoiding the very likely outburst that was expected of Iwaizumi as far as he was concerned. "I should have known better than to ask, you're hardly alright." With the light clattering of a plate sliding upon another, Oikawa set the plate he'd just dried upon the pile, and set them on the shelf he somehow knew to be correct. "I...I suppose I've said my piece, haven't I?"

Oikawa was still Oikawa, to say the least. Iwaizumi knew his side of his lover well. The unsteady, concerned but still masquerading Oikawa was standing in his kitchen. After years of being together, Iwaizumi had been able to differentiate between Oikawa's many facades. More often than not, the comedy mask is what he wore, laughing blissfully, poking fun at the many people he knew (namely Iwaizumi, himself) and carrying on as if he lacked any true worries. Naturally, being as close as he was, Iwaizumi had never been afraid to clutch the edges of comedy and strip them away to reveal the tragedy lying beneath. The woeful, terrified and insecure king of melancholy that remained hidden from public view peeked out from behind the plaster, allowing Iwaizumi to look through. It was his Oikawa that slowly began to smile when alone with Iwaizumi that let him know that this wasn't a singular ruler governing on his own.

****  
  


Whenever he pulled away comedy, Iwaizumi would drop his image as well. A softer featured version, with a smile that could outshine the son sat before the quivering lips of Oikawa, reassuring him that he was doing just fine.

The Oikawa that stood in his kitchen was what happened when Oikawa attempted to wear both masks at once. Conflicted between wearing his front, and revealing himself to the people around him, it was Oikawa at a crossroads.

Bringing himself to his feet, Iwaizumi unbuttoned the top of his shirt and proceeded to untuck it from within his belt. The distance between the living room and kitchen had never felt as long as it did in that very moment as each footstep became mechanized and heavier than humanly possible. "You know," he grunted, combing his hand through his hair, gaze averted to the doorway to the bedroom. "I know the card you're pulling." With eyes unfocusing from the other room, shifting to gaze at Oikawa, he stepped into the half-kitchen, leaning against the faux-marble countertops, arms crossed sternly over his chest. "That _I'm-not-sure-if-I-need-to-keep-acting_ card."

"Pardon?" Oikawa asked, drying off the droplets off a water glass to keep them from drying into cloudy smudges. "There's no act --"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You're going to say you're not acting, but we had this conversation years ago, and even if you don't remember it, I'm going to remind you of it until you do." Uncrossing his arms, and pressed a thick finger into Oikawa's chest, leaning forward, bossy and authoritative. "I know you. I know so much about you and what you've been through that I can read you better than any computer can.  I know when you're acting cheery to distract not only everyone else but yourself from what's eating you. And I know when you're emotionally exhausted and need to drop the routine! And --"

Between his words, Oikawa had raised his hand to Iwaizumi's, having set aside the polished off water glass. His fingers -- far more slender, and almost bony by comparison -- lay upon the back of Iwaizumi's hand, absorbing the warmth from the veins beneath.

"And you know when I'm not sure if I need to keep the act going for your sake?" Oikawa's gaze fell to Iwaizumi's hand now, his fingers beginning to trace over the slide ripples of scars and knuckles. With eyes motioning upwards to look at Iwaizumi directly, his fingers cautiously enclosed around his hand. "I don't doubt that you can read me, Iwaizumi-san." He continued. "But I've said my piece. You're just waiting on all of my memories of you to come back at this point, aren't you?"

"Of course!" Iwaizumi said after a moment of stunned (and somewhat irritated) silence between the two. "I just --"

Cyan eyes, the color of the vein-tinted circuits upon Oikawa's wrists examined the male over steadily. His hand had grasped Iwaizumis, plucking it from his chest. A first time in days that Iwaizumi could feel the life and bliss to come from Oikawa's presence.

"You need to be patient." Oikawa spoke, his voice softer than was typical of him. The cracked pieces of comedy wore away, corroding to reveal the tragedy behind them. Oikawa brought their joined hands to his face, sparks of erratic circuits rolling down from his eyes in sporadic paths. Synthetic tears had somehow broken past the firewall Oikawa had been forcing himself to keep up. "I can access that there's a strong emotional bond between us, Iwaizumi-san...But I can't understand any of it."

With a finger extending from Oikawa's hand, Iwaizumi went to flick away a few of the loose, rolling circuits ignoring the slight electrical shock that came as a result.

"And I have to be patient too, don't I?" Oikawa choked out, eyes twinkling with the sparks in the corners, but lips pulled into a passionate smile. "I don't like this, Iwaizumi-san. I don't like not understanding any of this. I have all these lines in my head that I think you said. But I just don't know. I won't know! I won't know for who knows how long!"

The grasp around Iwaizumi's hand tightened as Oikawa forced the space between them to vanish. He stood close, and though he was only millimeters taller, he seemed to tower over his lover, the two hands pressed between both mens chests. "And--!" He continued on. "And I'm not even sure if I did this on purpose! Why would I do something like this?! Why would I remove something so powerful as...as what we had together?!”

"Have." Iwaizumi corrected, pulling his hand free, his chest clenching tightly, coming to realize that he really was not the only one suffering through this sudden agony. Hesitantly, he placed his hand against Oikawa's cheek, again ignoring the miniscule shocks of electricity from the loose circuit drops. "We have this together. It's just on you to remember now."

Leaning into the hand gingerly, Oikawa's lips quirked into a smile, seemingly comforted by Iwaizumi's gesture. Although, he did end up having to pull away after a moment, having found his actions to be almost embarrassing. With hand pried away from between himself and Iwaizumi and the circuit drops brushed away from his cheeks, he resumed cleaning the dishes and putting the glasses away.

"Did you...still want to sleep in the bed alone?" Iwaizumi asked, hoping that he might be able to convince his Synthetic lover to allow him to share it with him.

With the cabinet door closed, Oikawa nodded after a moment's hesitation. "Let me sleep alone. If it feels wrong to be alone, you can join tomorrow."

It was the best Iwaizumi could hope for, for now.

****  
  


* * *

When Oikawa finally managed to vanish into the bedroom for the night, Iwaizumi settled himself down on to the couch. Still in his clothes, not changing into bedwear out of politeness, he opted to turn his attention to the news. With the bedroom door closed, he focused on the broadcast on television. Unsurprisingly, he was a related story for the night.

" _And to those paying attention to the recent developments in the life of Iwaizumi Hajime, well known Synthetic Ethicist and Activist, he was seen this afternoon leaving the Fukurodani Labs with long-time partner, Oikawa Tooru. Recent speculation has suggested that Oikawa's memory banks have been tampered with, and Iwaizumi has been seeking assistance restoring the deleted data. Apparently, he has been attempting to avoid the public eye, but with little success._ "

A few images popped up on the screen of Iwaizumi entering and leaving the Fukurodani labs over the course of the past few days, many blurry and out of focus, but the occasional shot capturing his face immaculately. The woman's voice continued to speak over the images as they panned out to reveal a shoddy recording of Iwaizumi and Oikawa walking out of the labs.

" _While the details remain unclear, it's become apparent that whatever is going on with Iwaizumi and his lover is something they want to keep private._ "

Iwaizumi snorted, slumping into the couch with his arms stretched over the back of it. "Of course it is. I never asked for my personal life to be your business, but here you are!"

He shifted around on the couch as the video shifted to an interview, the subtitle on the screen reading " **Iwaoi: Hacker or Had Enough?** " A roll of his eyes and Iwaizumi rose from the couch, grunting in displeasure as he made his way into the kitchen. Trainwrecks this terrible were deserving of a drink, and though the inside of his fridge at least was home to a bottle of wine for Oikawa, it was only housing a few cans of cheap beer, which he plucked out one and returned to his seat, cracking open the aluminum tab.

" _I heard Oikawa did it on purpose, that he and Iwa-chan were only pretending to get engaged and they were actually breaking up._ " A girl on screen spoke, barely looking up from the phone in her hands as to her left stood a girl with cheerful violet circuits in her neck chimed in.

" _All the forums are saying that they were breaking up, or rather Iwa-chan dumped Oikawa and he couldn't take the heartbreak so he just DELETED everything! I mean, if my boyfriend was making me think were were getting engaged only to dump me instead, I would totally do it too!_ "

"What's with this 'Iwa-chan' crap?" He asked no one in particular as his lips pursed around the can, taking another drink. "Only Tooru can say it, and where the hell are they finding this shit? The forums were screaming about the goddamn engagement, not a break up! There were pictures of the ring online, the fuckin' saleswoman posted them!"

Oh, it was infuriating. The entire nation was concerned with his love life and everyone seemed to think that things had ended badly between them. Badly…

A moment or so later, Iwaizumi found his phone beginning to buzz. A name on the screen read as "Private", so he could only be sure he knew who it was.

"What is it, Kunimi?" He asked, answering the call as he sipped upon the drink. Kunimi had been his intern of sorts, working with him in preparing a few statements regarding Synthetic families. He was still an undergrad in college so he had been shadowing Iwaizumi for the past year or so.

" _Ah, Hajime-san,_ " he spoke, having been given permission to use the older males first name as a courtesy. " _I've gotten about a dozen or so emails asking for you to make a statement tomorrow regarding what happened with --_ " The voice on the other end went silent a moment before speaking up with an inquiry. " _Hajime-san?_ "

"No, he didn't deliberately delete anything, trust me." Knowing what the question was going to be, Iwaizumi already answered it, even if Kunimi was going to press him about something else entirely.

" _Right. Just._ " Kunimi stammered a minute, incoherent nonsensical syllables coming out instead. " _Should I say you're going to speak about this first thing tomorrow? I've told people I wouldn't have an answer until I spoke with you, and I figured I would give you space for now but --_ "

Iwaizumi pressed a hand to his face, running his fingers over his temples before moving to rub at his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Sure." he sighed. "Don't say anything but the fact I'll make a statement tomorrow. I'm sick of this crap."

" _Hajime-san?_ " Kunimi asked again, making Iwaizumi almost frustrated by hearing his own name. " _Is he okay?_ "

"He's about okay as a hacked Synthetic can be, just --" he turned his attention back to the television where some anti-Synthetic preacher was going on about something he had no right to be speaking on. "I'll tell you tomorrow."

With the call ended, Iwaizumi slumped on to the couch again, seeing a text message from Akaashi on the screen, reading: " _Be patient with the media too. We're looking at the torrent lasting upwards of six weeks. Things will restore gradually. Think of it this way. You get to watch him fall in love with you all over again_."

Regardless, it still hung in Iwaizumi's mind that slim, miniscule chance that this all had been deliberate. Even if he could see Oikawa falling in love with him all over again...What did that even mean in the end?

Of course, the idea of watching Oikawa's face light up like it had the first time Iwaizumi had ever taken his hand was an almost beautiful thought. The only thing to top it was the euphoric glow he'd had when he slipped that engagement ring on his finger.

He would get to watch that all again.

* * *

"What do you think, Semi?" Shirabu spoke as he sat next to what appeared to be a defunct looking Synthetic, strapped with wires to a small station to keep his charge just high enough from going offline.

Lifting his head, the Synthetic in restraints looked up, the two-toned hair brushing against his forehead. Dull pink circuits flickered on and off along the undersides of his eyes as he viewed a monitor several feet ahead of him.

"I think Ushijima's plan is shit," he spoke as he looked at the news broadcast that somewhere else in the nation, Iwaizumi Hajime was watching with disgust. "What is this even all about? You knew that S.E.T.T.E.R.S. had nothing out for him, Shirabu, so why are you and he even--"

"This has nothing to do with that." Shirabu commented, crouching down to examine the Synthetic. Dressed in yet another suit, having grown fond of them as they covered all noticeable areas where circuits may have been visible (of course he altered his hex codes to mimic humans whenever he left the labs), Shirabu held a dastardly sort of grin upon his face, as he combed his fingers through the captives hair. "Besides. I thought we were clear on this. I'm not the Shirabu you knew during the war, Semi."

"I think your suicide-story is shit too." The Synthetic scoffed, flickering circuits holding still momentarily.

Semi Eita, one of the elite soldiers of the secret organization known as S.E.T.T.E.R.S., had gone M.I.A. during his return back to the country several months prior. He had been associated with a specific unit, assigned as mentor to some of the younger recruits, and due to this position often had to undertake solo-missions.

He had come from a strong background, but strong or not, it did not prevent him from being abducted on his private return to Japan from the New Soviet Union. He was one of the real secrets behind S.E.T.T.E.R.S., the secret being that like himself many members of the unit were incredibly appealing. All of the soldiers enlisted were aesthetically pleasing. The philosophy tied into the art of under-estimation.

Semi Eita, as far as many had told him in the past, was gorgeous. Porcelain skin, hair that somehow without any treatment grew out in an ashen shade of grey only to grow darker at the tips as if being dipped in ink, and a body that not only remained toned due to vigorous workouts, but was virtually blemish free.

And that disgusted Shirabu.

With his hand now shoving Semi away, Shirabu stood to his feet, turning the monitor off to leave him in a mostly darkness cast room. It was different from a transfer room. Virtually silent, it harbored only the sounds of his own breathing, land lacked any hum of machinery.

"Believe what you want," Shirabu mused, as he strolled away.  The automatic door opened with a whir for him as he moved out of sight. "Kick his ass, Tendou. I'm done."

They called him the Franken-Droid. A Synthetic made of pieced together fragments of data, tidbits here, splices there, all woven together in a crude personality with crude emotions, all held together with circuitry in an almost sickening shade of magenta. Not a single part of his body came from the same manufacturer. One hand came one from discarded Synthetic, while his fingers all came from different ones. He was nothing but a monster, made from pieces of other lives that had been tossed away.

The Franken-Droid, affectionately named Tendou as an ironic nickname, neared 190 centimeters compared to the small lump of Semi in the room. With hair messily  pulled up into something of a snotty series of spikes, he wore a sickening sort of grin that almost made him seem comedic.

He stood horribly tall over Semi who had settled himself down in a corner of the room, simply trying to shut himself away and become smaller than the individual. He'd been a prisoner of war before, so the routine was of no surprise. He wouldn't talk and so they would give him a few whacks to try and make him spill. Though Semi was a fountain of knowledge, he wouldn't even cough up a yes or no, even when a boot was pressed into his throat.

 

"Aww, whazamatta?" He chuckled as he looked down at Semi, his fuschia circuits pulsing to match his heartbeat as he stared down the other Synthetic. "Kenjirou seems pretty mad atcha. You not going to talk?"

"Bite me." Semi snorted, not bothering to offer the other with eye contact.

Taking the challenge, Tendou decided he'd much rather kick Semi instead.

* * *

**  
**Iwaizumi woke at dawn with a pain in his lower back. Clearly, couches were meant for sitting on, not sleeping as he had. Usually, he would have Oikawa between him and the unpleasant side of the couch, acting as a buffer from the worn out cushioning. With a grunt, he took in a breath, expecting the scent of his lover from the fabric of the furniture, only to find himself inhaling the aroma of coffee being brewed. His lips tugged into a faint smile, relatively pleased to find that Oikawa had been courteous enough to make coffee for the two of them. It was almost as if he had never had his memories erased. Of course, as he took in the view of the source of the scent, he was disappointed to find the bedroom door still closed, and a different person in his kitchen. **  
**

Already in his apartment, Kunimi had started a pot of caffeinated lifeforce for him. Mentally, he cursed himself for having given Kunimi a spare apartment key, but yet he was grateful, otherwise he likely would have continued sleeping.

"Rise and shine, princess." Kunimi said flatly as he began retrieving coffee cups from the cabinets for Iwaizumi. "I hate playing agent but after this press conference you have to meet for a business lunch with your advisor and a few colleagues."

"Press conference? I said I was giving a statement." Iwaizumi grumbled as he got to his feet, retrieving his belt from the coffee table, beginning to guide it through the belt loops again.

"Well, the media thought otherwise, I messaged the teams back that wanted your statement and they took this as initiative to invite teams from across the country."  Kunimi had something of a laugh in his voice as he handed the mug of coffee to Iwaizumi. "And please shave before you meet them, otherwise everyone's going to think Oikawa really did delete memories on purpose."

Sipping the coffee with something of a scowl, Iwaizumi spoke into the drink in response. "Don't even joke about that. I've barely slept in three days thanks to that idiot."

"Put on a tie too." He added as he returned into the kitchen retrieved a document from a manilla folder. "I'm also going to need you to sign this saying that I was involved in prepping you for this."

With a roll of his eyes, Iwaizumi set down his coffee and plucked the pen Kunimi had handed him from his fingers and scrawled out a signature on the paper he'd slipped his way. "You're lucky you go above and beyond, Akira otherwise I'd think you were a goddamn brat."

"I'm used to that." he said with a bit of humor in his voice. "Besides, you barely slept in preparation for proposing to Oikawa as it was, come on. How many hours of sleep you get the past week?"

"I could ask the same of you, Iwaizumi grumbled as he maneuvered past the intern in his kitchen to the cabinets beneath his sink. "Don't interns only get about two hours of sleep a night?"

"Ones in ill-fitting positions, but I work as your media agent and research assistant, I'm usually getting around six hours every night that I'm not too overloaded." It was a cocky sort of response but it was entirely truthful. "Why are you shaving in the kitchen?" he chimed up as Iwaizumi turned the kitchen sink on and began to splash water on his face, lathering his chin and jaw with shaving cream.

"Oikawa's still asleep in the other room. I can't wake him." He'd smeared on the thick layer of white foam and slipped past Kunimi to face a mirror in the faux hallway, a cup of water in hand to rinse the shaving residue off in.

"Ah, ever thoughtful. Try not to nick yourself, I don't want you looking sloppy and ruining your reputation any further." It was a playful bit of banter between the two of them that Iwaizumi hardly heard as malicious. "And you should have a pressed shirt in the closet over there instead of the one you're wearing. There's some brown spots from what I'm guessing was your dinner last night."

Glancing down mid stroke, Iwaizumi grumbled a swear under his breath and aimed to start unbuttoning his shirt while removing the last trails of shaving cream. "There. Not perfect, but at least it looks maintained." Discarding the glass in the sink, Iwaizumi rinsed the razor off a final time and stuck it in the underside cabinet again. Nick free, he removed his shirt, with a yawn, and took the one that Kunimi had kindly fetched from the hall closet for him.

"You do know what they're likely going to ask, right?" Kunimi questioned as Iwaizumi retrieved a note pad and a pen, writing out a message for Oikawa for when he woke up. It was a straightforward message, left behind to inform him that he would be gone for work related matters. He’d return later in the day, and there would be no reason for him to get worked up about it. Simple enough.

"Of course I do." Iwaizumi said, already dreading the press conference. "I'd be damned if I didn't."

With phone, keys and wallet now obtained, and a fresh shirt in a shade of light green with an olive-colored tie (that somehow Kunimi had brought with him), Iwaizumi hurried him out of their apartment. The two of them were making their way down the stairs when Kunimi spoke up again.

“Kind of funny how it was only a few days ago people were accusing you of having an affair with me.” The young intern turned his focus to Iwaizumi as he reached over to try and straighten his tie, only to end up making it a bit more sloppy than had been originally intended. “You know she’d be devastated with me. I’m no heartbreaker, you know.”

Taking the chance to fix the mess that Kunimi had inadvertently made, he shot him a glance with a raised eyebrow. “Yuina? How’s she doing?”

“Aside for worried sick over her darling co-worker has missed a couple days of work? Just fine.” Kunimi shrugged and held out a thermos of the coffee he’d prepared back in the apartment for Iwaizumi had begun to fidget with the sleeves of his shirt. Typically the sort to roll his sleeves up, he was itching to do something with his hands as they headed down to the street to catch their ride .

“I shot his boss an email yesterday,” Iwaizumi said rubbing his eyes as he took a swig of coffee. “Besides, if they didn’t know what was wrong with him before, they’ll know after today.”

****  
  
  


And he would be correct. Standing at a podium with at least a dozen microphones surrounding him, the first of two inevitable questions rose up.

" _Iwaizumi Hajime, what exactly happened to Oikawa Tooru?_ "

"Well," he began, his hands clutching either side of the lectern as microphones and tape recorders were held out for him to speak into. "It's hard to explain every little detail, but the short answer is that someone hacked him, and his memory bank has been scrambled."

" _So what does this mean for your relationship? There are rumors that he has deliberately deleted his memories of you given your break up!_ "

Iwaizumi held up a hand as the crowd began to get almost rowdy at that question. Eyes closed and exhaling roughly he forced the crowd to settle. "That's a complete lie. Oikawa and I are engaged. I'm confirming that. We do not have a date set."

Once more the crowd began to make a fuss, only for another question to raise above the crowd, this time in a polite but focused and almost humorous tone.

" _So, hypothetically...if Oikawa Tooru had deleted his memories of you on purpose, what impact would this have on your stance of Synthetic's being allowed to manually remove individuals from their memory banks?_ "

And that was the second of the inevitable questions. It was the question he'd been mulling around in his head for several days now, one that genuinely made him question his own integrity as an ethicist. With some silence as well as a few flashes of cameras, Iwaizumi took a moment to nod his head before clearing his throat.

"You know, this goes against everything I stand for as an ethicist and as a believer in free-will. But, I think I'm opposed to that sort of freedom. It's damaging."

_And I'm not even sure if I did this on purpose! Why would I do something like this?! Why would I remove something so powerful as...as what we had together?!_

Another breath. "Not just for the one being deleted, but for the Synthetic. Imagine it. Meeting the person you removed from your memories again, particularly if they were a lover. Imagine knowing there was some sort of bond between you but not being sure what it was? Imagine that sort of devastation. As far as we can tell from Synthetics with memory loss, the emotions associated with the memories are retained when in contact with the subject. If an organic human being can learn to cope with bad relationships, who's to say that a Synthetic can't do the same? In the end, isn't allowing the Synthetic to delete those memories harmful to not just the people they remove, but to themselves?"

_I can access that there's a strong emotional bond between us, Iwaizumi-san...But I can't understand any of it._

"So," Iwaizumi said, looking forward to face the group of reporters from all over the nation. "No, I can't support it. As a human, as an ethicist, and as someone who has been witness to the effects." With the words leaving his mouth, the crowd began to shift into an uproar, shouting questions as Iwaizumi stepped away with Kunimi at his side.

He had no further comments.


	7. #218546

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ON WEDNESDAYS WE WEAR PINK!  
> Get it. Mean Girls. Hot Pink. I'm fucking hilarious.  
> As always, thank you to Rae my fantastic beta reader, and Kait my horrible partner in crime!
> 
> Twitter: SamsaraWrites (writing musing) polarisopposite (personal)  
> Tumblr: samsara-san
> 
> As always, comments are fantastic and I love you guys so much! ; w ;

From where Ushijima sat, he could simultaneously absorb information from every news source world wide and internalize it within seconds. He was a supercomputer, a fountain of more information than the libraries of Alexandria. With time as only an abstract concept to him, he bid his time by learning; he studied everything.

 

Ushijima Wakatoshi was more than just a failed Synthetic, more than the first success. He was, even though he thought differently, an inspiration. His transfer was what allowed not only the entire nation, but the entire globe to feel at ease regarding the longevity of human life. He was a representation of hope, a symbol to humanity that life would resume its normal progression. Wakatoshi Syndrome would not defeat humanity.

 

But Wakatoshi Syndrome would defeat him. While the transfer of his identity into the Synthetic was a milestone for humanity, he would not remain stable. A glitch took control of his very being, and within weeks, he had lost the very essence of what it meant to be human: to feel, empathize, to _be_. He had lost it all, and even with patches installed to try and keep him whole, Ushijima had learned long before the rest of humanity that he had an unfixable error.

 

At the time of his transfer, Synthetics could not age the same as Organics, so Ushijima had been instructed that once a year he would need to be transferred again and again until such a time that the aging bodies were ready for use. Early Synthetics were much harder to transfer after the initial process. Due to such complexities, Ushijima had elected after his second transfer that he would not undergo another one.

 

He had learned very early on that he was a failure. Yet, while he lived and had survived the disease because of the transfer, he hardly felt that way. It came down to the telltale concept of living and surviving being entirely different things. Living involved exploring what life had to offer and discovering the human experience. Surviving on the other hand, it simply involved existing. He wanted to speak out regarding the error, to inform the rest of humanity the risks involved. Though he was unable to feel emotion the same way he had, he could at least tell right from wrong. Did people want to risk the process only to become void like he was? It was a moral dilemma. Did he tell mankind the risks associated with the transfer or did he let them suffer?

 

It's hard to decide between right and wrong when he wasn't sure if he was right or wrong to begin with.

 

Kageyama stood behind Ushijima, dexterous fingers unknotting the wires of glowing circuits that extended from the older Synthetic's neck. Surrounding them, the countless monitors streaming muted broadcasts, flickered rhythmless to leave moments of darkness where only the glow of the Synthetics’ circuits remained. The royal blue of Kageyama’s circuitry muted in comparison to the fluorescent of Ushijima’s rhodamine cables. Some just hung loosely, almost decorative; no matter their usage they always got tangled.

 

Kageyama pitied him. He wasn't sure why, or how, considering that he'd been locked away. As far as he knew, Ushijima was a prisoner along with the soldier. Perhaps it had to do with the fact Kageyama knew for certain that Hinata and Yachi -- the two people his mind kept bringing up when he was left alone with his thoughts -- were real. Kageyama was beginning to wonder if Ushijima too was being kept in the dark.

 

"Hinata's real, isn't he?" he asked, untangling a bit of loose, vibrant circuits from the seated Synthetic's neck. "Yachi too." He'd been locked inside Shiratorizawa with the pink circuited Synthetics for long enough to know that there were some mind games at work. He'd been told two, no three, times that S.E.T.T.E.R.S. needed him here, but without any message from the outside or from his boss he wasn't going to do anything. He would bide his time and wait until something was sent through to him. Whatever that something was, it was taking its sweet time.

 

"You really need to stop imagining people," Ushijima commented, turning to look at the young Synthetic with illuminated magenta eyes. "Shirabu knows what he's talking about. He's done a thorough scan of your hard drive and he hasn't found any trace of them actually existing, so you need to move on." Ushijima was precise with his words, finding that Kageyama had pressed hands to his shoulders in an attempt to straighten the few wires that protruded from the plugs at the edge of his collar bones. His model, essentially a prototype consisted of connection ports for cables whether they be used for charging or otherwise. Ushijima had found his own use for them.

 

He had become a voyeur of world affairs. With so little to do with his time, Ushijima had become fascinated with current events. The ongoing affairs of man, Synthetic and Organic alike had become a pleasure of his. If all the world was a stage and the men and women actors, Ushijima sat as a one man audience, bemused with the lives of the leading roles.

 

Eyes resting closed, he pressed a hand on top of Kageyama's, in his equivalent of a supportive gesture. "Besides. Even if they did exist, who's to say they even know who you are?" Kageyama's fingers flexed around his shoulder, the chest of Ushijima sinking as he exhaled. "We all have the games our artificial brains make for us, that one's just yours."

 

Deciding he was unhappy with the words from Ushijima, his fingers clenched a little tighter on the man's shoulders. Leaning in close enough to view some of the glowing text upon the monitors, Kageyama found himself smirking. "I don't know what sort of crap Shirabu's telling _you_ , but I think he's full of shit."

 

Maybe he was.

* * *

 

Oikawa Tooru woke to find the bedroom undisturbed and void of Iwaizumi's morning routine. With his battery at a full charge and laying in a bed that smelled of someone other than himself, he spent a moment trying to process precisely where he was. Right, it was his home. The one bedroom apartment he shared with a man to whom he was happily engaged. It was a strange sensation for him, waking up to know that he was supposed to marry this other _man_ but with no recollection of their relationship up until that point. Raising a hand to his face, he rubbed at his eyes, the glow of cyan seeping through his eyelids while he sat upright.

 

Despite the full charge, he hadn't slept well. The bed felt vacant and too large for one person. Perhaps he would tell Iwaizumi later that he would permit him to sleep at his side. Shaking his head, the undone chestnut locks flicked against his forehead. He drove off the idea, Iwaizumi was still a stranger to him. No matter what his gut told him, it would be so strange to sleep with someone he didn't know. Not that he meant sleep in _that_ way.If Iwaizumi asked, he wouldn't deny it, but he wouldn't go crawling to him, that would be silly.

 

He slid to the edge of the bed, still rubbing at his eyes. His head felt heavy, as if there had been weight crammed in there. Weight wasn't exactly precisely what it was, more like overstimulation. His mind was overwhelmed, as it should be with the past twenty-four hours of data beginning to process. Blinking several times Oikawa's eyes glossed over, pupils all but vanishing as a flicker of programming scrolled past them. A few more blinks and his pupils returned to their natural color, and Oikawa pressed his palms to his head, the circuits fluttering momentarily from the pressure.

 

"...So that's what it feels like to uncover a repressed memory." He uttered to himself as he brought himself to his feet, stretching to limber up artificial muscles. For a few minutes, Oikawa performed a few morning calisthenics, stretching out his muscles from the night's sleep. The air in the apartment, even after his routine still felt strange, as if he was breathing in something other than oxygen. There was a heaviness to everything around him, but perhaps that all came from the weight in his head.

 

Peeling away the clothes he had changed into from what he knew to be his dresser, Oikawa traversed across the bedroom into the bathroom. The trail of clothing to the room he'd pick up later to deposit into the hamper -- Iwaizumi didn't like him doing that, right? He could smell himself and he decided he needed a shower. A towel lay discarded on the hamper next to the towel, likely Iwaizumi's although the shower appeared to be dry. Removing the boxer shorts he'd opted to wear to bed in place of pajama pants, Oikawa twisted the knobs in the shower, allowing the water to cascade down on to the tub floor.

 

Stepping in and sliding the glass panel shut, Oikawa stood beneath the warm water, staring at the drops as they came down. Being Synthetic, he could roughly count how many drops were coming from the shower head at any given time, but his efforts were often placed elsewhere. Distracting himself from the stream of water, Oikawa closed his eyes, lips parting to let the water pour on to his face. A sigh escaped him, chest heaving in a pleasant breath --

 

_"Too much? I don't want to hurt you." Iwaizumi breathed into his ear as Oikawa was pressed against the shower tile. His upper body was just out of reach of the water’s path, likely sprinkling down on Iwaizumi as his lovers lips connected with the back of his neck, sending a shiver through the Synthetic, despite the warmth of the shower._

_"Mm, I'm fine Iwa-chan." Oikawa gasped while Iwaizumi’s hips rocked against him, the chill rushing through him growing electric instead. He was inside, slowly finding a rhythm that Oikawa was too willing to lose himself in as well. His fingers flexed against the tile, not necessarily looking for something to grasp, but a reflex caused by Iwaizumi's movements._

_"You look nice like this." Iwaizumi muttered to the Synthetic, voice nearly raspy, as his chest rest against his back. An arm linked around Oikawa’s stomach to fingers brush from the Synthetic’s abdomen to his hips. "You look --"_

 

Oikawa's eyes snapped open, bringing a hand to his mouth, nearly yelping as he glanced around the shower, almost surprised to find that Iwaizumi wasn't in there with him. His chest shuddered with each breath as he glanced around, somewhat panicked. It was a memory. A memory had come back to him. He'd heard of people often having deep, contemplative thoughts while in the shower. A memory of having sex with Iwaizumi wasn't necessarily unexpected, but it was certainly a surprise for Oikawa. Of all the memories to come back first . . .

 

Fumbling, Oikawa grabbed a bottle of soap, not sure if he felt dirty from the memory he'd just had recovered, or if he just wanted to wash away the scent he could still catch wafting off of himself. Examining the bottle, he set it aside. No, that was Iwaizumi's. Oikawa's soap was the other one, the one with the red cap on the opposite side of the shower. Switching the bottles, Oikawa squeezed some out on to a bath pouf hanging on the faucet and began to lather himself up.

 

Only to find that the suddenly returned memory was enough to bring him to half mast. Flushed (and not just from the heat) Oikawa hung the pouf back up. Might as well take care of that. Rinsing away some of the suds that had collected, he slipped a hand between his legs, fingers lingering upon his length momentarily. No time like the present.

 

As the afterglow subsided, Oikawa resumed washing himself and his hair and made his way out of the shower. Wrapping the discarded towel from the hamper around his waist he returned to the bedroom, picking up the trail of clothes he'd left behind, so Iwaizumi wouldn't get upset with him. With the mess cleaned, he sat back on the bed, his gaze focused into his lap. Oikawa’s hair clung to his forehead, the water slowly dripping into the corners of his eyes. he blinked a few times -- water wouldn't short-circuit a Synthetic but it could distort their vision. In small droplets, the water wrested free from the sections of hair, a couple plopping on to the wooden floor at his feet. No, that wasn't good. Iwaizumi would get mad at him if it stained. Standing, Oikawa removed the towel and began to rub it over his head to capture the excess, taking the moment to let his entire body breathe.

 

Being on the second floor, even with an extra large window, Oikawa wasn't at any risk for strutting around without his towel. And even if Iwaizumi did opt to open the door and barge in, it wasn't as if he hadn’t seen Oikawa naked before. It was safe to assume Oikawa these things about their relationship. Iwaizumi had seen him in more vulnerable positions; he'd seen him crying before the last night.  And clearly, if the memory from the shower served correctly, they were definitely sexually active.

 

He'd made his way over to the closet, examining what Iwaizumi told him was his wardrobe contemplating his attire for the day. It was one of those times of year where he couldn't just throw something on already aware of what the climate outside was going to be. It was October, after all. It could either be incredibly mild and comfortable, or it could be utterly freezing. Of course, Oikawa could always check the weather forecast to get an idea of what to wear, but what would mean conceding defeat. And he wasn't about to do that. Opting to choose a t-shirt (something with a vintage cell phone logo, something called Apple?) and a pair of looser fitting jeans (which he concluded probably were Iwaizumi's and not his, he decided he'd grab a sweatshirt or a scarf if it was too cold.

 

He had yet to hear a sound or indication of Iwaizumi, so Oikawa decided it was as good a time as any to make his presence known in the living room to greet the other male. Rolling out of the bedroom at the crack of ten-thirty, Oikawa opened his arms wide in an almost ritual like entrance.

 

"Good morning, Iwaizumi-san~ I must say that bed of yours is incredibly comforta---ble." His voice trailed off, finding that the apartment was empty. Thankfully, his awkward trailing of words was greeted instead by a note sitting clearly on the counter. Scanning over it, he found it all to be written in hiragana, and his confusion wasn’t addressed until he got to the very end.

 

"Why did he write this in hiragana I can read kanji just fine -- what the hell does that say?" His face scrunched in concentration as he looked over the varying characters, lost as to their meaning. His attention was tugged away by the chime of a cell phone. Retrieving the phone, Oikawa glanced at the screen, a single message asking if he was going into work that day.

 

It wasn’t until he was on his way to work, that it dawned on him that the kanji on the note was Iwaizumi’s name.

 

* * *

 

Moniwa Kaname was not a very exceptional man. A nervous wreck and an independent developer for the Date Medical Technical Group, he often went under the radar, frequently just a hand waving feverishly for attention if he'd made any developments. Moniwa didn't necessarily mind, knowing that even though his medical studies often went unheard during discussions, they were still on file and accessible. While he was not exceptional, he was also not simple.

 

He had been one of the first dozen successful human transfers, occurring about six months after Ushijima Wakatoshi's. Moniwa was transferred as part of a test run for Synthetics that did not need to be patched for emotional stimuli, much like Ushijima was. Being the third entirely successful  transfer(Entirely successful meaning no errors within a year of transfer), Moniwa had found himself confined to a Synthetic body at the age of twenty-four that hadn't been prepared for annual aging transfers.

 

And so, nearly fifty years later, Moniwa Kaname was still twenty-four years old.

 

He was an interesting sort. While many early Synthetics were by default given pink circuitry due to the initial color of wires used in the models, Moniwa had a slight adjustment in his coding. A bright emerald green flickered upon the circuits with pulsed softly around his eyes and along the curves of his neck. For early Synthetics, having circuits other than those in shades of violet or pink was abnormal. But perhaps, Moniwa was pretty abnormal himself. Of course, most people would never exactly know why.

* * *

  


"So how's he doing?" Akaashi asked as he sat across from Iwaizumi in the corner of the small restaurant he'd been lured to. Kunimi had informed him that this was a business lunch with his advisors at school when in actuality, it had just been Akaashi wanting to touch base with him. Naturally, he had suspecting Iwaizumi might not want to see him right away after Oikawa began downloading his memories again, so it was the best ploy to get him cornered. Literally.

 

Taking a long swig of his second beer, he stared across the table at the programmer. Akaashi’s glasses and labcoat off for once, he had always been the sort to remain in his uniform, and seeing him out of his element was often disorienting for Iwaizumi. "How do you think?" he replied with another question, jabbing a french fry into a metal cup filled with ketchup. "He has almost no idea who I am and he still doesn't respect how I scoop my rice."

 

A faint chuckle came from Akaashi as he, compared to Iwaizumi, ate a much more balanced meal. Although Akaashi was often confined to his lab for work, he made a point of eating properly when he managed to get away from his work. Unlike Iwaizumi who seemed to prefer indulging on whatever foodstuffs caught his interest.

 

"But is he recalling anything? I saw your little press conference on the news this morning, so it seems to me that you may already be breaking through -- ah, excuse me. Am I allowed to smoke in here?" Akaashi had pulled aside a waitress and held out a pack of cigarettes, only for her head to shake, denying him his vice. "Shit. Ah well, outside then."

 

It wasn't necessarily the most pleasant of topics for Iwaizumi to hear about, and for Akaashi to bring it up almost made it worse. Iwaizumi nabbed another french fry  from his plate and popped into his mouth as a means of procrastination. He chewed idly and swallowed,"Kunimi told me he was being hounded for a statement from me.” Unable to meet Akaashi’s gaze, Iwaizumi ran a hand through his hair anxiously,“I know he's an intern but that kid shouldn't have to deal with that."  

 

"I know, but have you considered that one of those reporters might have been the person responsible for Oikawa's memory loss?" Akaashi's tone had dropped from feigned cheer to something akin to a warning. "Whoever wanted to hear about your statement on Oikawa's memories is very likely enjoying watching you suffer through this, and they're probably thrilled to see that you're now receiving backlash online."

 

"That's no surprise. _Equal rights activist for Synthetics states Synthetics can't tamper with their own memory banks._ " Iwaizumi snorted, stealing himself another swig of his beer, before resting the bottle back on the table top again. Akaashi had removed his phone from his pocket and begun to swipe through news articles trending on various social media sites.

 

" _Iwaizumi Hajime: Equal Rights for Organics Only._ " Akaashi read aloud. " _Personal Problems Pressure Iwaizumi to Reject Ideals._ " Akaashi continued. "Oh, and this ones my favorite: _Boohoo. My Boyfriend Left Me! Iwaizumi Hajime Speaks on Synthetic Memory Access Rights._ " There was a faint laugh to Akaashi's voice as he showed Iwaizumi the article, of course his tone flattened out. "Oh, it's a parody article supporting your stance, nevermind.” Akaashi’s face fell, brows raising in intrigue momentarily before he slipped his phone back into his pocket. “The point is, the media is eating you up and whoever is out to get you is probably enjoying watching the public take a shit on your image."

 

"Yeah, well you already know my stance on the media --"

 

"Excuse me?!" As Iwaizumi continued to speak, he found himself being interrupted mid sentence as a number of girls approached him, many of which were likely still in high school as some were in uniforms. A number of them had circuits glowing around their knees -- shades of blues and greens as were popular, but none of the colors were quite as captivating as Oikawa’s. "Is it true you and Oikawa-san are single now?!"

 

Iwaizumi's face burned brightly, flushing mostly out of embarrassment and annoyance than anything else. "Sorry ladies, the tabloids got something wrong, me and Tooru are still together, even if his memories got distorted, we're working to restore him." He contemplated taking another bite of his meal but he knew how unattractive it would look. Despite what he thought of the media, he still found it necessary to look good for the tabloids at the end of the day. "He was really confused about why he felt like we were in a relationship, and we found his memories were tampered with so we had to go into his backup drives to get him up to speed.”

 

There were a number of sighs of disappointment mixed with those of relief as the group of girls began to shuffle away, perhaps many of them had hoped to score a date with the ethicist or his Synthetic boyfriend. Of course, neither of them were much into younger partners. Let alone women.

 

"Your stance on the media is 'I have to look good, even when the media thinks I'm shit.'" Akaashi commented with a chuckle as he finally pocketed his phone, having had replied to a rather lengthy message from Terushima while Iwaizumi was distracted.  "One of those girls already shared with someone your statement, so if I were you, I'd be prepared for a couple of nosy emails soon."

 

After Akaashi’s warning, a message from Oikawa popped up on Iwaizumi's phone reading: " _Why are these people asking me so many questions about our personal life?! How am I supposed to know?! ヾ( •́Д•̀ ;)ﾉ_ "

 

It was going to be a long couple of weeks. Iwaizumi found that upon finishing his meal with Akaashi he had to somehow get across town in record time or order to shoo customers off of Oikawa.

* * *

  
Oikawa worked at what most people would call a Synthetic cafe, but it welcomed people of all backgrounds. Synthetic was something of a joke, as multicolored LED lights were woven into the walls, much like circuits on a Synthetic. Furthermore, the entire staff consisted of Synthetics, each one with a different personality that often made the cafe popular with young single folks. In a way, it was almost like a maid cafe, but instead of maids, attractive Synthetics.

 

When Iwaizumi stumbled into the brightly lit cafe, he found himself among a sea of men and women alike, all of whom seemed to be waiting in line to try and ask Oikawa questions. Iwaizumi could hear various inquiries regarding not only who steals the blankets at night, but intimate questions -- which one of them was the dominant partner in bed for example. He was no stranger to muscling through crowds, so Iwaizumi did just that as he eventually wound up putting himself in between his lover and the group of people surrounding him. People continued to raise their voice with questions, excited to see a celebrity couple out together despite what a frenzy the media was having with them.

 

A scowl hooked upon Iwaizumi's features as his brows knotted together. Glower in place, he looked over the clustering of people. So many of them were clearly tabloid obsessed twenty-somethings so of course they were going to eat up whatever gossip they picked up on. Oikawa had been attempting to take his break at the cafe, having taken a seat at a table relatively close to the wall where the other workers could watch out for him. Upon looking up while enjoying his break, he'd met the eye of someone who had been trying to figure out if Oikawa was actually Oikawa, or some doppelganger. More likely than not, he'd gotten to his feet to move into the break room instead, but that failed horrendously as he alerted several more people to his presence. Of course that only multiplied after a few seconds, and the Synthetic was out of luck getting out of there smoothly.

 

Iwaizumi slipped an arm around Oikawa's waist, the two of them standing almost plastered against the wall. The scowl on his face had silenced the crowd and given him the opportunity to raise his voice. Hopefully, they would listen, but it seemed improbable.

 

"Listen up!" Iwaizumi called over the estimated group of thirty. "What goes on with me and Tooru past what the news has already said, is our business. Not yours. Other people don’t bother _you_ about your relationships at work. I've said my two cents on the matter and that's all you're getting from me, and you're not going to get anything out of him," an arm raised, thumb pointing to his side at Oikawa, who had visibly paled, although his usual smile remained plastered upon his face. "So do me a favor and _fuck off_. Leave us alone before I get my lawyers involved."

 

The crowd began to clear, and after a moment, Iwaizumi managed to get Oikawa to sit across from him at the table. The Synthetic's face gave off the faint glow of his circuits -- likely due to embarrassment, as was a common feature -- and he began to rub at the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the few stragglers that seemed to be wanting to hear what the two were about to talk about.

 

"Th-thanks for that Iwa-san." Oikawa stammered out as he took a final look around to be assured that no one was listening in.

  
"You shortened it again." Iwaizumi's ears had picked up on the shortened nickname that Oikawa had graced him with. He'd been so adjusted to hearing the Synthetic use the -chan honorific that it still didn't sound completely correct, but it was still a preferred string of syllables. Having dropped his focus to examine a particularly interesting water ring on the table, Oikawa glanced back up, lips quirked faintly in a shy smile.

 

"Felt right." Oikawa uttered, gaze falling again. His head tilted to the side and rest upon his shoulder. Oikawa’s expression hung in place momentarily, while his fingertips drummed against the table before his cyan eyes focus shifted back to Iwaizumi. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

 

Iwaizumi glanced down at the hands resting on the table before him. Oikawa's fingers were as slender as ever, begging to be brushed against. Bringing his own hands on the table, Iwaizumi reached one out, allowing his thumb to stroke against one of Oikawa's. He anticipated the Synthetic to withdraw, but instead, he flipped his hand over, open in an invitation for Iwaizumi. Aqua circuits beneath the surface pulsed in slow patterns, welcoming him to reach out and hold on to him, much like he had done for the past decade.

 

With hesitation, Iwaizumi's eyes flitted upwards to meet with Oikawa's, studying the look his lover gave him. It was gentle, even for Oikawa, with warmth radiating from the smile. (Dear god he wanted to kiss him). The Synthetic's eyes glanced down toward both of their hands, and Iwaizumi brought his finger to the glowing flesh, starting to trace the lines slowly.

 

Oikawa leaned in close, lips parting curiously as he followed the motions of Iwaizumi's fingers. "What're you doing?" he asked, fascinated by Iwaizumi’s gestures.

 

It had been a spontaneous gesture, unplanned on Iwaizumi's part as he focused on the action. "When I proposed to you the other day," Iwaizumi sighed, tracing invisible characters into Oikawa's palm, stroking for each dash and swipe. "When I did this, you asked what I was doing too." Before he could bring himself to continue speaking, Iwaizumi outlined the last character into his hand. "...And you asked if I was reading your future."

 

"And were you?"

 

"What do you think?" Iwaizumi asked, hazel eyes meeting with Oikawa’s. He pulled his hand free and closed Oikawa's into a loose fist. He then lifted the Synthetic’s hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss upon each knuckle, and smiled. "Keep those words I just wrote with you."

 

"What did you write?"

  
"I love you."

 

 


	8. #09200e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So suuuuuper sorry. We had to remove the chapter and reuploaded it. My editor found a lot of errors we missed when we were finishing it up at 5AM last night and we opted to spent a couple hours today re-hammering those out. But that aside I do want to thank all of you for bearing with me in this labor of love. Hot Pink has officially passed 1000 hits, and I couldn't be happier. You've all been so supportive of this team and I don't really know what else to say other than thank you.
> 
> For more reading, we are working on a couple of side stories, namely Circuitboard by iridisal and I'm working on a side story as well called Neon Lights.  
> We're also composing a couple of playlists if you guys want a musical experience to accompany the chapter too. I personally suggest Pendulum.
> 
> But for more writing tidbits, you can follow me on Twitter (@SamsaraWrites or @semieitas) or on Tumblr (daienno or samsara-san)!

Oikawa offered to let Iwaizumi to hold his hand as they left the cafe, their palms pressed tightly together. The love would escape if he loosened his grip, and although Oikawa could not feel it himself, he believed it. He truly believed in the love that Iwaizumi had woven into his flesh. He couldn't bring himself to engrave the same words back into Iwaizumi's hand, but he would cherish what he had been given. He hoped he'd be able to return the affections. He'd done so in the past, and he wanted to do so again.

Iwaizumi led Oikawa back into the apartment, releasing their hands to let his confused partner enter before him. As Iwaizumi watched the Synthetic walk, he felt as if, in a way, they were teens again. Here they were, the two of them returning home after what felt like a date. Oikawa glanced over his shoulder to watch as Iwaizumi leaned against the door, a smile pricking upon his visage. It was the kind that could make the most vile of men change their ways. It was . ..

Beautiful as ever.

"You alright?" He asked, the smile breaking (No, bring it back. . .). Iwaizumi’s heart clenched and twisted in tandem with his stomach. He rested with his weight upon the door, studying Oikawa intently, as he strode back over to Iwaizumi:  the swing of his hips as he walked. the twitch of his fingers as his hand reached toward Iwaizumi's face -- the way his pupils dilated in the dim light of the hallway.

All of it made Iwaizumi lick his lips in anticipation.

The need to kiss the Synthetic hadn't left. It had been such a frequent and routine part of his days with Oikawa, that being unable to do so (and being fearful of being rejected), was causing him a heartache he hadn't felt since his boyhood. It was a sort of throbbing, and he knew it well: it was the same ache that he experienced when he discovered Oikawa would need to be transferred.

"No," Iwaizumi choked out resting his cheek into Oikawa's hand, eyes closing. He brought his fist to his mouth, covering the dolesome curve of his lips that had been trying to suppress. The need to sob, although tearless, caught in his throat in a desperate whine. It was so much harder than he’d expected it to be.

Yet, he reminded himself, recalling Akaashi’s advice: be patient.

"Anything I can do?" Oikawa asked, showing patience himself. The smile ( _Yes. You can. Keep smiling._ ) returned as he ran his thumb tenderly over organic flesh. It was a repeat of the night before but this time, Iwaizumi found himself in the position of utter confusion and heartache. How long would they have to go through this? How long would they both be unsure of where they stood with each other? His fingers traced over the artificial veins in the backs of Oikawa's hands.

"Yeah," he spoke clearly while weaving their fingers together, closing the love tight inside again. "You can kiss me."

He withdrew as soon as the words came tumbling from his mouth, his ears and neck growing hot. He tried to dart around Oikawa before something even more juvenile escaped from his lips. It was exactly like dating again. He still didn't know how to use his words, he didn't know how to say what Oikawa wanted to hear, and he would continue to make an ass of himself all over again, knowing that Oikawa, like always, would only laugh.

While attempting to shift around the Synthetic, his hand was once again captured. Oikawa hadn't moved, he extended his hand and clasped it around Iwaizumi's before he was out of reach. "You," he began, glancing at him, tentative but pleasantly intrigued. "Want me to kiss you?"

There it was. The words that would highlight the next few moments of laughter and humor from his lover, the words that would push Iwaizumi into considering kicking him out. But instead, he was greeted with the feeling of his other hand being held as Oikawa closed the space between them. "Listen, I know you think it's stupid --" Iwaizumi murmured, eyes focusing away from Oikawa and on one of the clusters of photos hanging on the wall; his hands subconsciously tightened around Oikawa's. "You can't remember but I wo--"

Mid-word, Iwaizumi was silenced. Oikawa’s lips were pressed against his, warm and familiar. His eyes were pulled from the past to his present, observing Oikawa momentarily before they fluttered shut, he didn't seem burdened or troubled in the slightest. Iwaizumi smiled into the kiss, his lips parting just enough to give his fiance access to his mouth if he so chose. His grasp on Oikawa’s hands tightened as he felt the artificial heartbeat flickering rapidly, and for an instant, he was kissing the man he loved. His jaw twitched, eager to open wider, eager to let Oikawa in, eager to let his tongue stroke along the others. Eager to feel his breath hitch. . .Eager to . . . feel his . . .

"Iwa-san." Oikawa breathed against his lips.

Iwaizumi pulled back, mildly surprised at the way Oikawa had ended the moment.  His hand, still clasped with Oikawa’s, loosened its grip as time caught up with him.

"Why did you --"

"Why wouldn’t I?"

Iwaizumi tugged the other to him, ignoring the voice screaming in his mind (You're moving too fast!). Sometimes voices of reason could be shoved aside in favor of what the heart wants. His arms closed around Oikawa, pulling the Synthetic close, knowing full well that he could be pushed away at any juncture. Not that he minded, he had gotten the kiss he wanted from Oikawa and he... wasn’t alright with that. He wanted more.

"I want you back." He said, choking on his breath. It had been only twenty-four hours. Twenty-four out of an anticipated one thousand eight hours that it would take for Oikawa to be restored. He couldn't imagine how he would survive through this all, he couldn't imagine how he'd make it through this struggle. When people are put through trying times, they often have their significant other or other loved ones to support them. But for Iwaizumi Hajime, his significant other was the cause of his struggle.

"I want you to kiss me casually, I want to be able to brush aside your hair in the morning before I leave for work." He pressed Oikawa's head into his neck, discovering that the Synthetic hadn't pulled back and instead made an attempt to rest close to Iwaizumi. He cozied up against him, breath warm upon Iwaizumi's neck in delicate puffs, absorbing every word that he spoke. "I want you to turn to me when I'm leaving and whine because I woke you up, and tell me to have a good day or you'll leave me."

He was seconds short of groaning a string of "It's not fair", but complaining would solve absolutely nothing. he combed his fingers through Oikawa's hair, twisting and curling them into a fist, keeping him buried close. Craning his head to the right, his lips kissed along the side of his skull, resting tenderly in repetitive affections.

Oikawa's hands stroked along Iwaizumi's. They continued over his arms in trickling touches that caused Iwaizumi's skin to prickle and hair stand on end. Intimate gestures such as Oikawa’s were the sort that would make him melt where he stood. He shuddered, his eyes closing as Oikawa's palms rested upon his shoulder, and opened a space between them.

"Let me touch you." He demanded, one hand running against Iwaizumi's shoulder toward his neck and up to his face again. "I...I had a memory come back. A very vivid one." His voice cracked, and Iwaizumi’s eyes sought to meet the turquoise gems that were Oikawa's. Compared to their encounter in the cafe, their gazes remained connected. A timid smile crept on Oikawa’s face. "I'd like to know how genuine that memory's emotions were. I'd like to touch you. To remember how you feel."

Puffing out his cheeks, Iwaizumi frowned, a brow raising in response. He plucked Oikawa's hand off his face, unsure if this was the kind of touching his lover meant. "...What kind of memory came back to you?" He anticipated a number of different things, so nothing would surprise him.

"It doesn't matter, I just --"

"It was a sexual memory, wasn't it?"

Oikawa's lips pursed and the circuitry within his face lit up, flickering on and off between the natural hue of his skin tone and the aquamarine hex code. At first, he appeared sheepish, withdrawing a hand to scratch at the back of his head, idly twirling his hair to stave off his embarrassment. Laughter, sweet and melodic rippled from Oikawa as his eyes closed, appearing almost angelic to Iwaizumi in that moment. "That obvious?" he asked, taking a step away, shuffling his feet to make his way around Iwaizumi -- finally separating the two of them by more than a foot or so. "How dirty, right?"

"It's not dirty. We're in a relationship, remembering sexual encounters isn't weird or dirty. It's bound to happen.” Iwaizumi turned to watch Oikawa walk away (god, did he love it) and settle himself down on the couch where the blanket still sat in a clump, along with his shirt from the day prior. "You and I have sex.” He felt himself growing more flustered the longer the conversation dragged out, but he couldn’t bring himself to change the topic. “It’s how we show we love each other.”

"I suppose you’re right, Iwa-ch-- san." Oikawa mused, bringing his legs upon the couch to sit cross legged, and patting the space next to him, asking for Iwaizumi to join.

Iwaizumi heard the near utterance of -chan, only for Oikawa to stop himself. He must have known it was correct, having heard himself saying it in whatever memories had come to him already. Words became caught in Iwaizumi's throat as he stepped over toward the couch, looking down at Oikawa in a physical sense of the word. He refrained from sitting right away, taking in the nearly dumbfounded way Oikawa stared up at him.

"How often do we have sex?" he asked, almost naive in nature. His neck relaxed as it shifted to the side. The inquiry was mature and unbecoming of such an action; it was almost enough to make Iwaizumi feel as if this was a lead in to removing his clothes.

Sex for them happened often enough that the past few days without Oikawa giving him bedroom eyes had become tortorous.

" _Often_ ," Iwaizumi managed to choke out, finding those words still caught thickly in his throat. "The idea of you touching me right now _will_ get me hard, and I don't think you'd be up for meeting me in the bedroom for a quickie."

To Iwaizumi's surprise, Oikawa began to laugh. It was a familiar and comforting, quite similar to the one he'd had when he accepted Iwaizumi's proposal. His teeth -- unnaturally white, one of the few things that could be spotted to differentiate a Synthetic from an organic -- showed through the laugh, his lips having pulled back in his amusement. "Well, perhaps you're correct." As the laughter died down, Iwaizumi decided it was a safe bet to sit next to him. "But, this couch is terribly uncomfortable, I'd feel bad if you had to sleep on it again. So, maybe you can sleep in the bed with me tonight."

It wasn't sex. Not by a long shot. But it certainly was intimate.

  
  


With nightfall, Iwaizumi found himself bombarded with a number of text messages curious in the state of affairs. In addition, Oikawa continued to insist that he could figure out Iwaizumi's rice scooping measures (one trait he had hoped his lover would forget with the returning memories).

The coup de grace, however, was Iwaizumi’s first shower in what felt like a week. Though Iwaizumi usually preferred his water scalding, it was beyond refreshing to have a moment to relax under a much cooler spray. It wouldn’t have been a surprise to him if this was where Oikawa’s memories restored quickest. Then again, they say showers assist in cognitive understanding, so naturally, it made sense.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Iwaizumi immediately found himself drawn toward the bed, having found Oikawa nestled up in the blankets with his back resting against the small headboard. The soft pulsing lights of the beds charging base were in motion, restoring the battery life to him, his toes wiggling beneath the covers.

There was something genuine about that moment between them. It was something. . .everlasting. Their first night in the apartment had been a mess, too tired to unpack they had only made a point of unpacking their bedding. Making the bed and finding some form of clothing to wear to sleep, Iwaizumi and Oikawa had crawled into the blankets together. Not a single word had been spoken, but they hadn’t needed to speak.

They had a home together. They had a _life_ together.

From the bathroom Iwaizumi studied Oikawa, his lips quirking into a more content expression. He hadn't thought about that first night in the apartment with him in a long time.

Maybe, Oikawa wasn't the only one whose memories were coming back.

"So now what?" Iwaizumi asked, stopping midway between the bed and the bathroom. He pressed the towel around his ears, drying off the water that had collected, and sat himself down on the bed’s edge, his back to Oikawa. "We roleplay? You pretend you're you, with your memories, and I'm...still me then?" He glanced over his shoulder and offered Oikawa a smirk. "Or maybe I'll be some knight in shining armor, rescuing you, I don't know how we're going to do this."

"We're sharing a bed, Iwaizumi." Oikawa corrected somewhat hotly, the circuits within his cheeks brightening. "Not having sex." He kicked out a leg and shoved the ball of his foot against Iwaizumi's back. It was an affectionately rough gesture that enticed Iwaizumi to turn around, offering the Synthetic a smile.

"Well you said you want to touch me, so. I just kind of..." He shuffled his body around and got himself comfortable in the bed next to Oikawa, resting against the pillow. They sat there a moment, shoulders but inches apart, both facing to the side, examining each other. Oikawa's lips had spread thin in a smirk, a playful one that paired with another kick.

"Assumed?" Oikawa asked bringing a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. "Perhaps when I remember more about you, alright?" He leaned over to Iwaizumi, and lightly punched the others arm before whining something about Iwaizumi's arms being bricks.

"You know punching me isn't actually touching me, right?" Iwaizumi snorted as he opted to slide himself down in bed, pulling the blankets up. He shifted around a moment, leaving enough space between the two of them to keep Oikawa comfortable. "If you don't wanna actually go about touching me just yet, you don't have to. I'm patient."

Maybe he was just far too eager for his own good.

 

At some point, both Iwaizumi and Oikawa had fallen asleep. Despite Oikawa's willingness for some sleepover style banter between them, Iwaizumi had managed to slip into unconsciousness long before Oikawa even realized he'd been talking to an empty room. Sometime during the night, the two of them had woken up to find themselves face to face. 

One of the interesting traits of Synthetics was how their eyes, even in darkest places, had the slightest hint of a glow, making them faintly visible. Iwaizumi peered forward, finding Oikawa resting on his side, hands tucked beneath the pillow to cradle his head.  Blinking a few times to be sure it was his lovers eyes and not just his circuits, Iwaizumi made sense of the situation.

"Can't sleep?" He reached out, tentatively running a knuckle over the other’s cheek. Oikawa’s eyes closed and he nodded into the touch briefly. The Synthetic pulled a hand out from behind the pillow and rest it upon Iwaizumi's, cupping it close as the room went dark.

"A memory came back." he hummed quietly. Oikawa shifted around in bed, slipping close enough that Iwaizumi could feel the heat of the others body. But they weren't quite touching, not yet at the very least.

"Oh yeah?" His voice was deep from the sleep that had overcome him earlier in the night. "What about?"

"You." Oikawa chuckled, and much to Iwaizumi's surprise, both of his arms reached out and snaked their way around his shoulders. "And how you asked me out in high school. You were so angry about it." Laughter slipped free from the Synthetic as the final bit of space between them vanished and their chests bumped together. "It was almost like you didn't want to."

"I was being pressured to!" Iwaizumi choked, flustered at how quickly Oikawa was willing to get close to him again. Naturally, the sensation of the others body against him put him at ease -- things were progressing. Eventually, they would be tangled up in the sheets again, Oikawa's face pressed against his hip and trailing his open mouth down toward his -- This wasn't the time.

"Oh?" Oikawa asked, the glow of his eyes brightening along with his smile. "By who?"

"Matsukawa and Hanamaki! Who else?!" Iwaizumi barked, lightly shoving at Oikawa's face. "Listen, we can talk about this in the morning, you know? I'm thrilled that you remembered the world’s most awkward instance of asking someone out, but is this really the time?"

"Mmm, maybe not," Oikawa purred, shifting around in the bed so his position against Iwaizumi wasn’t simply close. Instead Oikawa had partially draped over him in an affectionate lump. "But it is time for cuddles, okay?"

And with nary another word -- Oikawa went silent, leaving Iwaizumi partially spread eagle beneath him.

Things were progressing just fine.

  
  


Oikawa was gone the next morning when Iwaizumi woke up. A note on the nightstand read the he got a call from his co-worker ("You know, Yuina -- that cute girl Kunimi-chan is dating!") and was asked to come in for a morning shift. He'd resigned himself to waking up without Oikawa, but after the little discussion in the middle of the night -- it didn't come with the emptiness that the previous days had had 

Stretching, Iwaizumi figured he might as well get himself dressed and down to Aoba Jousai to resume his work. With Oikawa seeming to be on a path of steady rejuvenation, Iwaizumi had little to concern himself with at home. It would be a long few weeks, but if things kept positive, it was going to be just fine in the end. They were getting on with their lives, and even if Oikawa didn't recall every precise detail, it would be alright. He'd remember eventually.

As he left his apartment, Iwaizumi dodged the familiar cluster of reporters that often waited outside for him. Just another day in the life. On most days he could brush them off easily. But when they flocked to him it made the rush to work more nearly intolerable.

"Now, now, leave the guy alone~ He's been through a lot lately!" Iwaizumi took a glance over his shoulder to find that someone -- rather tall, all things considered -- had shimmied his way between him and the group of reporters. "He'll answer your questions when he’s good and ready, alright? "

Pausing, he turned around to examine the intruder who stopped as well. He was using his hands to shoo off the group as if they were a herd of animals. Tall was definitely an understatement, as he likely stood nearly five inches taller than Iwaizumi, the way his hair had been brushed back into loose spikes made him appear even bigger still. He jerked around to face Iwaizumi, giving him an eyeful. He wore a suit -- sloppily, as if it were something he was unaccustomed to wearing -- the drooping of his eyes suggesting he might be a frequent drug user.

"And who might you be?" Iwaizumi asked, scowling. The individual laughed a bit, craning his neck to side revealing a string of rather bright, pinkish circuits in his skin. It was a threat; he didn't need to hear words to know that this Synthetic in front of him was looking for a fight of sorts. Iwaizumi folded his arms over his chest. "...What do you want?"

Leaning forward, the Synthetic offered a hand to Iwaizumi, a grin plastered on his face. "Tendou Satori. I may or may not have the ability to help you out in regards to your little boyfriend problem." He laughed a bit, withdrawing his hand the second Iwaizumi went to shake back. "Psych! About the hand shakin' not the boyfriend problems."

"You flash pink circuits and _then_ you tell me you can help us?" Iwaizumi snorted in disbelief as his arms returned to their crossed position on his chest. "You're not very good at this pitching-an-ultimatum deal are you?"

"What can I say, it's my first time on the job. Everyone's gotta start somewhere." The Synthetic sneered. "Lemme start over again. I'll flash my circuits, an’ say something like 'If you don't come with me, your boyfriend's screwed'. I think that's much better." He laughed, tugging up the sleeves of the suit. "Man, how do people wear these. Can hardly move at all in this shit. You ever have these problems, fleshy?"

"'Fleshy?'" Iwaizumi decided then, that this Synthetic’s pink circuits were definitely a concern. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the contacts. "I'm not interested."

"C'mon buddy -- trust me, I'm not pulling your leg. I can help you and whats-his-face out --"

"Listen, you need help. If you can shut up a second, I’ll give my friend a call.” Iwaizumi snorted and brought the phone to his ear.

"No, no, no, no!" The Synthetic cried out, attempting to snatch the phone from Iwaizumi's grasp. His hand closed around the device, and the pink of his circuitry -- stitches? -- began to flicker before the phone shut off. "No, you need to come with me right now and I'm not --"

Iwaizumi jerked away, staggering back from the Synthetic. Tendou wasn't right, and Iwaizumi had to get away before he became unstable. Shaking his head, Iwaizumi broke into a run.

 

You don't trust anyone with pink circuits.

  


* * *

 

"Give me another."

From across the training center, the sound of clay discs being smashed echoed. A Synthetic with dark green circuits, mimicking the appearance of freckles, grasped another disc and tossed it into the air. Moments later, a plasma cable struck against it, shattering it to pieces.

"Another." the user, slim built with short blonde hair, stood on the opposite side of the room from the Synthetic, cables recoiling into his hands. "I want to see how fast I can let them out." He frowned, glancing at his palm through tinted goggles and flexing his fingers.

"Don't you think you've done enough today, Tsukki?" the Synthetic entered the field between them, "We've been at this for a couple of hours and my arms getting kind of tired." He bent down and began to collect the shattered pieces, fully aware that the other had leveled a glare at his back for even suggesting a break.

"Load them into the gun instead. I never said I needed you here with me, Yamaguchi."

Tsukishima Kei was neither organic nor Synthetic. He was an experiment. Under the supervision of Fukurodani Labs, a program had been established to replace the limbs of Organics with bionic replicas as a pre-emptive countermeasure against Wakatoshi Syndrome. In some cases, the individuals for the process were weaponized to be used as soldiers in potential conflicts with other world powers. After his brother had volunteered for the program and failed, Tsukishima had decided he would take his chances. The result, was the first successful bionically equipped organic human, and as such, Tsukishima intended to make sure he did things right.

Both of his arms had been removed under the guidance of Akaashi Keiji and Terushima Yuuji. Of course, the idea of some _criminal_ performing and operation on him didn't sit well, but after discovering he'd been a success -- He had all the reason to be smug.

* * *

  


Iwaizumi had lucked out. His phone hadn't broken entirely, the battery had just been drained from the Synthetic’s interference. All he had to do was charge it. It was a relief that most cell phones in this age were equipped to withstand Synthetic magnetism.

He'd been focused so much in his research that Iwaizumi hadn't even noticed how quickly the day was progressing. It wasn't until Kunimi showed up with his usual ‘two-PM-I-know-you-didn't-sleep-much-last-night’ coffee, that Iwaizumi even realized the time. The intern leaned against the desk, taking a glance at the content on the screen. A brow raised as he sipped from his own take-away cup.

"I didn't realize data restoration was part of your final presentation." He mused, fingers tracing over the bumps on the plastic lid of his own drink. "But hey, whatever floats your boat." Iwaizumi glanced back at his screen, noting how every single tab he had open in his browser were articles pertaining to Synthetic data and recovery. Iwaizumi sighed and picked up the coffee that had been delivered to him. Noting it was drinking-temperature already, he indulged in a rather long gulp before resting the cup on a pile of paperwork.

"Funny." he scoffed as Kunimi wiped away a trail of dust from the monitor. "What can I say, it's weighing pretty heavily on me right now, I can't focus on much else." The intern shrugged and produced a pile of sugar packets from his pocket, which he began to add to his own coffee rather feverishly.

"You know you don't have to even come in if you're not doing your research. You were given a grant, so _chill_." With the sugar now added to his coffee and milk mixture, Kunimi began stirring it to create tiny whirlpools in the beverage. "I mean, unless you're going to use this in your thesis, but who am I to judge. I'm just an undergrad."

"I could probably use it," Iwaizumi said, rubbing at his eyes. "Synthetic body rights does go into data loss and recovery." He began highlighting sections of text, and copied them into documents to cite for later usage as Kunimi gave him a pat on the back in encouragement.

"Go home. I'll cite the pages for you. You've got an amnesiac boyfriend to tend to." Iwaizumi didn’t have to be told twice, and without another moment’s hesitation, he was out the door.

  


_"Y’know_ , you _really_ ought to have stuck around instead of scurrying off to work like that, I-Wa-Chaaan." Iwaizumi stiffened as he turned the corner from his office, the taunting voice immediately putting him on edge. Given earlier circumstances, he could tell that it was the pink circuited Synthetic that had approached him that morning.

With time on his side momentarily as he sought out Tendou’s location, Iwaizumi fumbled with his phone. Seeking the first available number -- Akaashi -- he began to dial, hitting a wall when he was left no choice but to record a voicemail. _Tall. Pink circuits. Stitches. By my office._

All of which would have been well and good if, from left field, something hadn’t collided with Iwaizumi’s back -- heavy, and clearly a chunk of debris. It was enough to knock him down, his phone slipping from his grasp and skidding across the pavement. Disoriented as the wind came rushing from his lungs, he found his vision blurred while he tried to gather his bearings. He vaguely registered footsteps approaching him, glimpsing surprisingly shiny dress shoes before him.

"You should know better~" the voice jeered. "Pink circuits, yo. We're dangerous as fuck. You seriously didn't call the authorities once you were safe inside your office? Not even after a rogue pinky made you piss yourself? Maaaan, and they call you a _genius_!" Grating laughter filled Iwaizumi’s ears, as he panted, trying to regain some breath, and composure. “Here's a piece of advice, Iwa- _chaaaan_ \-- don't get so worked up! You get so grumpy over the _damnedest_ things. So what?!! People care about your love life. They never want to hear about _that shit_ from normal people~"

And like a well timed bell, Iwaizumi recoiled as the foot of the Synthetic slammed into his chest, nearly lodging between ribs.

With a surge of adrenaline, Iwaizumi made an attempt to crawl forward toward his phone. Tendou crouched down, allowing Iwaizumi to witness the sinister grin twisting his features. The buttons of the ill-fitted jacket had popped off, revealing a familiar design of a military uniform. A soldier...? He couldn't be sure.

Swan...?

Iwaizumi squinted to make out the rest of the kanji written on the Synthetic's uniform, but his gaze was torn away by a hand fisting in his hair, and hoisting him up to his feet. Completely overpowered, the ball was no longer in Iwaizumi’s court. Unlike earlier, the look on Tendou’s face was wicked. Bloodthirsty, even. Iwaizumi had to break free, he had to find an escape -- he needed an opening. Something. Anything.

Tendou giggled (most giggles were charming, not this one). “Face it! Most Synthetics would _kill_ to be your little boy toy! Never having to worry about stable facilities. . .Discrimination. He'd gripped at Iwaizumi's collar, humming faintly, the smirk upon his face nearly serpentine. “ Your little boyfriend is sitting in the lap,” His eyes darted quickly past Iwaizumi’s hips, tongue peeking from behind his teeth. “of luxury while the rest of us suffer."

Iwaizumi grunted, thrashing to try and pry himself out of the Synthetic's clutches. But if there was one thing Tendou had over him, it was that a military Synthetic could snap his neck in a second, should he choose. "You told me you could help us earlier." Iwaizumi snarled, reaching to grab at Tendou's wrists to try and force him away yet again. A brow quirked on the Synthetic's face before his mouth formed into a definitive O shape.

"Oh. I can help _him_." He said, expression returning to a smirk. The flesh panels on one of his wrists pulled away, revealing a needle that quickly jabbed into Iwaizumi's neck. "Not you." A weak paralysis agent began to overcome the organic, entering his veins rapidly and causing numbness to circulate through him. Iwaizumi's fingers slowly begin to loosen from his hold on Tendou as he felt the drug gradually infiltrating his senses. As they clouded, Iwaizumi began to slump, slowly collapsing to his knees before succumbing.

 

Sometime later, Iwaizumi was laid out in a darkened room, the soft lights pulsing with his heartbeat. Though the room remained empty, a monitor lit up casting an eerie glow, and an artificial voice crackled to life.

“ **Transfer Initiated**.”


	9. #ffffff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walks in 15 days late with Starbucks. Oh right. This fic exists.  
> BUT NO SERIOUSLY. I HAD TO TAKE AN EMERGENCY HIATUS. I was dealing with a lot of work and life related stress and I got sick so WE'RE ALL GOOD NOW. SO YEAH. HOT PINK IS BACK IN ACTION!  
> Couple little things I need to put out there~  
> Updates are going to be sporadic until about November or so because I am moving! We're moving to upstate New York (Buffalo area) and between now and the move I have a lot of stuff to do. I've got a couple more chapters planned out (and the next is almost finished tbh!) so between now and my move, there's probably gonna be 4 updates or so! From that point on we're going to be looking at updates probably every ten days! Yay!
> 
> As always huge thank you to Raernix for being my editor for this and skyestiel for assisting with grammar and spelling! And also a big thanks to skyestiel for promoing in her recommended IwaOi fics!
> 
> We're back in action and I hope to keep doing you guys proud! <3

"Iwa-chan~! Wake up."

Stirring faintly, Iwaizumi's head lolled about in an attempt to shield his ears from the noise. When the sound became a gentle shove against his shoulder, he finally sat upright, eyes heavy with sleep as he stared blankly, attempting to process his surroundings. Oikawa was standing over him with a goofy smile, tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth . "'Bout time you got up~ I was about to head to the gym without you!"

He dragged his hand down his face, brushing away the crust near his eyes. The classroom was the same as it was everyday: desks organized in neat rows with the chairs pushed in hastily by students leaving for the afternoon. As always, the chalkboard remained dusty, covered in the remains of the day’s lectures. A glance at the clock revealed that class had been over for several minutes now, and Oikawa just so happened to be the prince to wake Sleeping Beauty from the monotonous curse that was high school.

He smacked his lips together noisily. He was thirsty, perhaps even dehydrated given the white film that had collected on his lips. Pushing himself up from his desk, he snatched the school bag from the floor and hoisted it over his shoulder. "Enough, Kusoikawa," he grumbled as he pushed past his teammate toward the sliding doors, waving his bag somewhat to convince him to tag along.

Oikawa was quick to step in line with Iwaizumi, humming cheerfully as he playfully grabbed his arm. Ugh, that teasing 'We’re dating and I’m going to make it a big deal!' game -- Iwaizumi couldn't stand it. Usually. Although, it was cute. Sometimes. With a nudge, he convinced Oikawa to release his arm as the two of them made their way to the gym.

"You know, I'm pretty sure sleep paralysis can happen if you fall asleep at a desk, too. It took you a while to wake up."

It was their usual ritual. The school day would end, Oikawa would come scampering over to Iwaizumi, they'd head to practice, and he'd watch as Oikawa pushed himself. He was going to damage his knee further, and even though Iwaizumi scolded him regularly, Oikawa persisted. "I'm fine, Iwa-chan~" he would insist, following up with a playful jab.

No matter how Aoba Jousai did during the next tournament, Oikawa had a bright future ahead of him. Although with the state of his knee. . .

Bright.

Kn . . .ee. . .?

Iwaizumi blinked, his focus aimed at Oikawa's knee. In what felt like slow motion, Oikawa lunged forward with two long strides, legs bent at a perfect right angle prior to propelling himself upwards. His arms flew back in a swift motion as he drew his elbow out and forearm up for his palm to smack at the ball he'd tossed in the air seconds before.

With the smack of skin on the leathery surface, it clicked, and Iwaizumi trudged across the gymnasium towards his boyfriend. It wasn't right. As he drew nearer, Oikawa must have caught a glimpse of his glower, and yelped, taking a few horrified steps back."Iwa-chan, stop looking so scary! What did I do?!"

Too roughly for his tastes, Iwaizumi snatched Oikawa's arm and tugged him over. His eyes shifted from Oikawa’s knee, to his face, and back again.

" _Where are your circuits?_ "

  
  


"And then!" Oikawa's laughter filled Iwaizumi’s ears as he jolted upright again.  "He asked me where my circuits were! I swear, Iwa-chan's been so strange lately!" Hanamaki sat in the desk behind him, and against the window Matsukawa leaned on the frame as they both laughed at Oikawa’s commentary. Iwaizumi looked around, glancing up at the other third years. The both of them had always had circuitry of their own, prominent in their necks and the backs of their hand in striking lines of lavender and goldenrod. Though he scanned them over (a bit too suggestively), he found no such trace 

Where...were they?

"Watchin' too many sci-fi movies, Iwa-chan?" Matsukawa asked, leaning down and jokingly wrapping an arm over his shoulder. A grimace flashed on his face as he shoved against the other teenager, disgusted at the close physical contact and odor of his cologne. Close inspection revealed once again -- no circuits to be found.

"God, you smell like a cheap date," he snorted at the taller student, who'd proceeded to pull Iwaizumi even tighter into the fraternal embrace to get more of his scent on him. Hanamaki, too, decided to bombard Iwaizumi from the opposite side, causing Oikawa to release a snarky little laugh as the two ambushed his vice captain.

A moment passed, and Iwaizumi decided he was done playing weak for them. He skidded back in his chair, making a path through the others, and rose to his feet.

" _You should probably leave the room._ "

A voice. Neither Oikawa's, Hanamaki’s nor Matsukawa's crackled out, as if over the intercom overhead. Iwaizumi looked around, sharing pointed glances with the other students before extending a finger toward the ceiling.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, lips parted dumbly. He felt cold, as if there were something mechanical touching him, and crawling along his spine. It was the sort of cold that set in when a doctor examines their patient. An unnatural touch that left Iwaizumi rather unsettled. The other teens all exchanged glances before the trio began laughing amongst themselves.

"Oh, there he goes again -- it's like he's living in a video game ---"

  


He jolted upright in bed, glancing around momentarily before he stared blindly at his hands. He was back in his room, surrounded by his weight training and volleyball equipment among other things. His study guides for college prep were scattered about the floor, many left open. God, he'd been spending so much time trying to get ready for exams and practicing after school that he'd hardly had a good night’s sleep in weeks. Iwaizumi rubbed at his eyes sleepily and yawned. He had fallen asleep in his gym clothes again, and with an English textbook on his chest. He'd been running himself ragged, and, even though he wasn't going to college for anything remotely English oriented, he definitely needed to be sure that he wasn't slacking in any areas. 

He was going to be a physical therapist -- for Oikawa's sake. After having to help the idiot with his knee for so long, he was already familiar with how to treat it. It was an interesting field for him, and going into that as an actual science was appealing. He could help Kusoikawa and other people like him who complained less.

Slipping out of bed, Iwaizumi leaned down to pick up a book on ethics that he'd knocked to the ground. God knows he had to be able to pass the ethics test on multiple levels --

Ethics.

No, he was already an ethicist, wasn't he? He was finishing his Masters' in it.

Synthetic ethics.

He pressed a hand to his face, a throb pulsing behind his eyes, as if a migraine were setting in. Squinting, in an attempt to avoid letting the light in the room irritate his head, Iwaizumi looked around, nabbing his clock. It was seven-forty in the morning. Early enough that…

Looking out the window, Iwaizumi found himself staring outside, the migraine forgotten as he was drawn to the sunlit alleyway between his and his neighbor's house. It was unnatural. At least it was for him. For as long as Iwaizumi had known, he'd grown up in a world that had been so polluted by mankind that the sky was almost perpetually clouded, particularly in the city. Daylight -- no, natural sunlight -- was only able to peek through the sky for about six hours a day, with sunrise now starting as late as ten in the morning.

Why was the sun out? And so early?

" _Maybe you should go back to bed and try to wake up again._ "

Iwaizumi jerked around and looked through his room, trying to locate the source of the voice, only to find himself alone. And then, on its own, the door closed.

"Who's there?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes to try and comprehend his situation. What a stupid idea...asking who was there when he was clearly by himself.

 

 

"Nice serve, Iwaizumi!" He watched as one of the orange and black clad students on the other side of the net received the ball, the surface slapping against skin before it flew back into the air. It wasn't a toss, but it certainly was a well-timed receive, giving the spikers a chance to attack. The ball flew toward the net where Hanamaki, Matsukawa and Kindaichi leapt to block it from scoring. A smirk of satisfaction as their block forced the ball to go tumbling down onto the planked floor below. 

Striding towards him, Iwaizumi's hand slapped upon those of his teammates, congratulatory and excited. Match point. Fantastic as always. As the other members of Seijou came to him for congratulations that were certainly in order, Iwaizumi found himself slapping his hand against the palm of someone much smaller.

A boy approached him, sporting a uniform entirely in red, with a white five screened on the front. His hand was gentle on Iwaizumi's before he paused and appeared to take a moment to examine himself.

"Oh, right...forgot about this," he commented softly as he looked up at Iwaizumi momentarily before scanning the gym.

And, as he took in his surroundings, it was as if the entire world had been put on pause.

"Cool, I needed to talk to you but you weren't getting the hint." Iwaizumi looked around after he spoke, feeling himself growing cold again. There it was, that doctor-touch, that shiver that ran along his spine and made him question whether he was actually there or not.

The small male began walking away, waving his hand, beckoning him to follow along. He'd glanced over his shoulder, stopping when he saw Iwaizumi standing still and rather panicked. "You want to know why you can't see their circuits? Well? Come on." He spoke quietly but firmly, and for a split second, it almost appeared as if he glitched. His entire appearance became distorted. Pieces of him vanished as he moved further away, almost as if he were out of focus.

Deciding it was better to seek answers rather than be left overwhelmed, Iwaizumi followed. Understanding why he was following him, why he wasn't nearly as terrified of the frozen world as he ought to be, was an afterthought. Iwaizumi began to weave his way through the gym to go after the individual, who hadn't looked back after he began to walk again. He was leading him somewhere and Iwaizumi needed to figure out where and why.

The youth vanished past the gym doors, and Iwaizumi broke into a run, feeling himself almost slowing down. Everything had begun to feel as if it were in slow motion, dizzying as if oxygen weren't getting to his head. Glancing behind him, he felt the color drain from his face as what had been the gym moments before began to fade away, as if fizzling into nothingness, replaced by stark whiteness.

"Hurry up."

Not wasting any more time, Iwaizumi grabbed at the gym doors and flung himself --

  


The floodplane was entirely deserted, except for the seated boy who was apparently playing some sort of handheld game. As Iwaizumi approached him, birds that had perched on the back of the bench flapped their wings and took flight. He watched as they ascended further into the sherbet sky, only to see them vanish into nothing.

He couldn't be sure what was going on, but Iwaizumi sat upon the bench. Getting a closer look, he found that what the other was holding wasn't a game at all, but rather a screenless console. He was playing some sort of Tetris knock-off. His fingers twitched and twirled, rotating the blocks with digits that gave off gentle strobing lights, mimicking the visible spectrum.

"You're asleep," the boy said as Iwaizumi rested next to him. "And you need to wake up or you're going to die."

Circuits. The longer Iwaizumi looked at the boy, he realized this boy was a Synthetic. So he wasn't imagining it. He hadn't made up that world. The boy gazed up, his eyes strobing different colors to match the circuitry as the hue alternated from one to another. Iwaizumi slumped into the bench, his hands resting in his lap, staring outwards into the floodplane, watching the water listlessly ripple with the breeze.

"What's going on?"

"You're dying." the boy said, not looking up from his game. "Sort of. Actually, it's more like you will die if you don't wake up?"

"...You said that already, didn't you?" Iwaizumi asked reaching over and rather intrusively twisting one of the blocks to give the boy a reprieve on the move he was lost on.

"Been saying it for, ah, probably six weeks now? I think it's been six weeks in here. It's only been about ten minutes outside, probably," he commented, resuming his game rather gratefully.

"Outside?"

The boy turned the game off and climbed to his feet. He faced away from Iwaizumi and began strolling off, headed toward the stairs that led to the fishing docks along the water. Iwaizumi followed after him, watching as the youth’s arms hung behind his back, locked together in his leisurely pace.

"How much do you remember?" he asked, eyes darting upwards to meet Iwaizumi’s for a moment. "About outside?"

"Synthetics," Iwaizumi said. "Circuits..." Iwaizumi paused and once more he felt the pressure of slow motion pulsing in his head. He was dizzy. "Someone attacked me and now I'm here? Where..."

It was as if a tornado were approaching him. A gust struck him at an alarming speed, revealing what almost appeared to be still frames of prior events. Oikawa's face, the engagement, the Fukurodani labs, the media -- Tendou. Tendou attacking him. Tendou's foot colliding with his chest. . . Iwaizumi lifted the four-printed jersey he wore, examining his chest, noting the large maroon blotch positioned between his ribs. Once more, he was looking up, but the water of the floodplane was no longer in place. Instead, the same rushing white and distortion was approaching.

The youth had vanished, and Iwaizumi was alone with the oncoming whiteness. He couldn't be sure what it was, but he knew it couldn't be good. He took off up the sta--

 

"So, you've realized this isn't real, right?" Iwaizumi was suddenly sitting in the classroom again, but, this time, where Oikawa stood before, the boy with multicolored circuits sat on the edge of the desk.

Iwaizumi held his hand to his face, groaning into his palm. He nodded, jerkish and stiff as stress suddenly became a very real headache for him. "Where are we? What is this?" The appearance of the room flickered, as if it were unstable. As if it were... "Is this a simulation?"

" _Bingo._ " The youth spoke in English. "It is a simulation."

"But --" The room felt both unfamiliar yet inviting to Iwaizumi. The thrumming in his chest reminded him of the safety that should be associated with the space within these walls. In a way, it felt like home, like a sanctuary. "Why are we in an old classroom?"

"Regression," he said, standing up from the desk, drumming his fingers over the surface, tempo in time with his heartbeat. "Basically past-life regression. Long story. When they started harnessing Synthetics, they were able to find that souls had trace memories from -- other people. Possible past lives."

"I would've read about this. That's going into some really personal details for Synthetics if transfer agents have access to that." Iwaizumi relaxed. He remembered. He had comprehension of the world outside.

"It's not public information. I probably shouldn't even be telling you," the teenager said as he approached the chalkboard, and began writing something. "Then again, you won't remember if you wake up. Most likely."

As the boy wrote, a word in English began to stand out, and he pointed to it. Chimera. Seconds later, he pointed to himself, as if saying that were his name. But, in addition to that, he dragged the chalk across the board, creating a design of sorts which Iwaizumi was quickly able to determine was a circuitry design. A very familiar one.

"That's… the pattern on Oikawa's knee."

"When a program is misbehaving," he reminded. "You break the code. But for people who don't know to operate computers, locating the coding can be difficult." He tapped the board, knowing he had Iwaizumi's attention. "Here's your hint."

Although Chimera (really, what a name) had assisted him, something hadn't clicked with Iwaizumi. Why was he helping him? Who was he? And why was he trying to get him out of the simulation? Iwaizumi was theoretically famous, but if this kid were trying to get money out of him, it wasn't going to work. The boy had just _shown up_ , revealing himself in this world of sorts and was offering him tips on how to break out of it. With fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose, Iwaizumi gestured somewhat wildly, seeking a way to phrase the confusion plaguing him.

"...Why do this?" he asked, his eyes squeezed shut as if attempting to stave off a headache. "I don't know who you are, why either of us are here -- so what's the deal?" He rested his arms on the desk and pressed his head against them. "I can't figure it out."

"Chimera. Or the Brain, if you will," the teenager said. "That's what you can call me. I'll respond to either. And I'm here because I was ordered to drag you out. My boss called me, told me to interface with all the transfer labs in the city and locate you. Simple enough but this --" he indicated their surroundings-- "It's unstable, and whoever's trying to transfer you is deliberately letting the data corrupt. So, it's --"

"A transfer against my will."

"Something like that. So, I’d hurry, probably." Chimera hummed a bit, crossing his arms as he leaned against the chalkboard, dust collecting on his red jersey. "They know I'm in here so they're not exactly happy I’m telling you how to break out. But I think you may already know." He tapped his knuckles against the chalkboard again and then proceeded to reach toward his right knee. And, without breaking eye contact, Chimera threw his fist into his palm, before approaching him again. "I think you get the idea.

 

 

"You know, we're alone now, Iwa-chan." Oikawa's voice was sweet, nearly angelic as he returned the net to its location in the storage closet. Iwaizumi's fingers flexed around the broom handle, glancing up at the team's captain who had decided to close the space between them. "We sent all the underclassmen home so why don't we take some time for us~?" 

"No, thanks," Iwaizumi blurted all too quickly, luring out an indignant whine from Oikawa. Like the child he was at times, he stiffened and pouted. His lower lip protruded so much farther out that the top one nearly vanished. Iwaizumi bit his tongue to keep from laughing. It was rather cute after all.

But, this wasn't _his_ Oikawa, was it?

"Well, why not?! I. Sent. Them. Home. Early. _So_! We. Could. Fool. Around!" Oikawa's hands wrapped around Iwaizumi's arms, revealing just how artificial they felt. There was something nearly ominous about the sensation. Perhaps unnatural was the correct word. Whatever it was, the feel matched the very atmosphere of this entire place. The sensation of it being void of life but yet powered by it. For the first time in Iwaizumi's twenty-odd years, he didn't want Oikawa's touch. He'd been so desperate for some sort of contact from his lover, positive that he was willing to take anything he could get. He wanted Oikawa's hands on him. He wanted to be able to weave their fingers together and hold him down on the bed and press his lips to every inch of him. He wanted Oikawa. But not like this. Not this one.

"I can't," Iwaizumi bit out, his grip adjusting on the worn down wooden handle. "If I were a weaker man, maybe. But..." Taking a moment to look Oikawa in the eye, he noted the warm mahogany shade. He should have taken those eyes as his indication this place wasn't real long before the lack of circuits even occurred to him. Gaze dropping lower, he saw Oikawa's knee. He'd removed his brace from it now that practice was over… he was vulnerable. Did Chimera set up this opportunity for him? He couldn't be sure. "You're not the Oikawa I'm in love with."

"Iwa-chan, what are --?"

It was a now or never moment. Harming Oikawa was something he never wanted to do. As often as he did it, he didn't like yelling or scolding him, and, as children, he'd occasionally hit him and knock sense into him, but it was never meant to be a malicious thing. It was meant to be a motivator. It had been his way of trying to get through to Oikawa and make him compliant. Oikawa's knees, even as a child, had always been weak. There had always been something problematic about them, and such was the reason why he had a clustering of circuits around the area as an Synthetic. It was a quick struggle in which Iwaizumi had to accept his options: hurt this genuinely artificial Oikawa, or hurt the Oikawa that existed in reality.

No contest.

Iwaizumi turned the broom upside down and swung it into the knee of the fake that stood before him. As wood splintered against flesh, the glowing design Iwaizumi recognized from Oikawa's leg flickered to life and shone brightly. Starting with Oikawa, everything seemed to fizz away into streams of pixels, as the world itself gradually became nothing but blank space.

  


Iwaizumi drew in a breath, gasping for oxygen. He sat upright, and by doing so, the transfer electrodes ripped free from his skull, leaving Iwaizumi to scan his surroundings. He was in a transfer lab, seated on one of the operating tables. The normally soft lights lining the wall were pulsing and flashing in streams of crimson as an overhead voice announced, "TRANSFER FAILED. TRANSFER FAILED." Iwaizumi’s chest sank and expanded several times as he tried to get to his feet. Along with the mechanical voice, an alarm was ringing, and he was almost numbed.

There was something from a dream he'd been having, but that wasn't the important part. What was important was that he was stuck in a transfer lab and… his arm wasn't moving. He tried lifting his right arm, finding that it was hanging limp at his side as he pulled himself to his feet. Static filled his entire body as he tried to gain his bearings. Perhaps it was due to being stationary for so long, but he was hazy, disoriented and he had to get out.

 

* * *

"Matsukawa..." Hanamaki’s voice was soft, almost delicate as he pressed their chests together. His fingers delicately ran over the other's jaw line, tracing over the five o'clock shadow. "We're in public. Don't you think people might stare?" 

With his arm wrapped around Hanamaki's waist, Matsukawa pressed a free finger to his lips, chuckling lowly. His tone was sultry, almost seductive as the hand upon Hanamaki's back clenched around the fabric of his uniform. "Taka-chan, I thought you liked it when people stared,” he sighed, holding his chin upwards. "Besides, I don't care if they know."

Hanamaki's hands shoved against Matsukawa's chest, and he pulled himself away, head turned back with closed eyes. The lavender circuits within his cheeks sparkled to life as he shook his head. "I can't, Issei! You're such a tease!" he gasped, horrified as he took off.

And, as he took off, the grouping of high school girls with their non-fat mocha lattes began to clap and squeal excitedly, leaving Matsukawa to sigh dreamily.

"Oh, girls, if only he could love me here the way he does when we're alone."

 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki were a very popular duo at the Synthetic cafe. Having observed a lot of anime growing up, they found that their relationship as lifelong friends made them particularly good at putting on airs about being a secret couple. The girls who came to the cafe were the type to eat it up. They'd always perform these little scenarios in front of guests after delivering their coffee. If they were the type, that is. And they would always flirt aggressively, essentially playing rounds upon rounds of gay chicken with each other. 

When the scene was over, the two of them would meet in the back room and have themselves a wicked laugh over the events. They weren't doing it to be mean, but they knew that those little scenes earned them some nice tips. Fanservice at its finest.

When the two left the cafe for the evening, locking the doors behind them, Hanamaki couldn't help but watch as Matsukawa eagerly began walking ahead, as if trying to stay warm in the cool autumn air.

"Oi, Mattsun," he called out, whistling to catch his friends attention. "Don't move so fast. Your house ain't goin' anywhere!" In mid-step, Matsukawa turned around to look at Hanamaki, smiling faintly but giving off an air that was hardly worth a smile. Putting himself closer to the other Synthetic, Hanamaki stood before him, lips pursed in a playfully confrontational manner. "Something's eating you."

"I'm fine, Makki," Matsukawa said through his smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Hanamaki lightly balled up a fist and threw it against his chest. "You've been acting weird since you spent the night the other day. Was sex with me really that terrible?" Matsukawa's goldenrod circuits pulsed in his ears a moment, expression tugging a bit more to show off the dimples of his cheeks.

"More like the exact opposite. It was great." Matsukawa chuckled softly, adjusting the scarf wrapped around his neck with his autumn jacket. "I think I'm just... still caught in the aftermath, y'know?"

"I'm not opposed to screwing again. It's not like I think less of you for sucking me off." Hanamaki laughed but the jovial sounds died off pretty quickly as Matsukawa took a hold of the hand leisurely resting upon his chest. "...Issei?" Hanamaki's voice lowered as he found his fingers being closed around by Matsukawa's, his veins strobing in slow, saffron beats.

"...It's something else you might think of me less for," he admitted quietly as he leaned close, pressing his forehead to Hanamaki's. "Takahiro, I've been living out of my car the past two weeks. I got evicted."

"You're living with me now," Hanamaki blurted immediately, he took the the hand and used it as a lead to guide Matsukawa behind him. "Don't even dare object. I've been planning on asking you for a while now, and this is as good an excuse as any."

* * *

 

When Iwaizumi stumbled out of the lab, he found it was an abandoned one in a former business sector of the city. Emptied out (but still functional) after one of the air strikes from the recent war, this part of the city was in shambles with clusters of debris and broken vehicles littering the streets. And with the rubble also sat a slick, ebony vehicle with a chauffer standing dutifully outside of it. An escort.

"Iwaizumi Hajime, if you wouldn't mind getting in, we're here to bring you back to the city," the driver spoke, opening the back passenger door for him, revealing Akaashi and Terushima who were seated comfortably inside. Akaashi waved his hand slightly at the ethicist as he sloppily situated himself into the car, sitting in one of the seats adjacent to them.

"Glad we could find you," Akaashi said as the door closed. He then offered Iwaizumi a small glass filled with (from what Iwaizumi could assume from the smell) something alcoholic. If the smell weren’t coming from the drink itself, it was certainly thick in the air. "From the looks of it… you're not as bad off as we thought."

With eyes narrowed and the glass thrust into his hands, Iwaizumi’s attention shifted from Akaashi to Terushima, and back to the bespectacled programmer. Akaashi’s face was brilliantly pink, and clearly it was due to the natural blood pooling in his face rather than circuitry. On top of that, the exuberant smile that adorned his lips was becoming of only one thing. “Are you _drunk_?” he asked, sneering, and genuinely horrified.

Akaashi pinched his fingers in the air before pressing his hand to his lips with a nearly effeminate giggle. “Maybe just slightly. Just slightly.” With the hand pulled free from his mouth, Akaashi gestured blindly as the car began moving. “Looks like we got here just in time, though.”

"What the _hell_ are you talking about, Akaashi?" Iwaizumi snarled as he took the drink, dubious about its contents and the likelihood it had been drugged. It was bad enough that Akaashi was clearly drunk and admitting to it, but to be expected to cater to his whims on this ride would make things much more abhorrent. "Did you arrange for _that_?"

"Well, I got your voicemail, and it was still recording when I heard something of a scrape so naturally I investigated." Akaashi shrugged, speech slurred. "My boss traced your location at the time of the call and then our servers went off indicating that a formerly closed transfer center went live. We sent out a dispatcher to locate you, and here we are after our dispatcher confirmed your location." It was all rapid fire but easy enough to process, thankfully. A drunk Akaashi was quick to explain and even quicker to refuse to explain again. Having been the sort to live in the moment when he drank, Akaashi was not about having to re-explain anything.

While Iwaizumi allowed himself to take a hesitant sip of the drink, his eyes still studying Akaashi from over the brim of the glass, Terushima slid to the opposite side of the back seat to examine him. Iwaizumi hadn't even noticed when the Synthetic had lifted his arm and began poking and prodding it. When he finally came to notice that the Synthetic had busied himself with fussing with his arm, he made yet another effort to lift it but to no avail.

"This," Terushima commented drumming his fingers against the arm. "Is a common side effect when a transfer goes wrong. Neurosensory Paralysis. Or Dead Limbs. Happens when a transfer goes into effect and the aspect of the consciousness required for willingly using your limbs is uploaded, but not returned upon premature release from the process." He laughed, quietly having a snicker and repeating the phrase ‘premature release,' the sunny colored circuits lighting up for a moment. "Man, I sound smart when I drink. But what I mean is, like. All the nerves in your arm get killed during the transfer. Blood keeps circulatin’ through it so you aren't stuck with the feeling of it being asleep. It can still react involuntarily through naturally occurring muscle movement, but otherwise, you're gonna lose your arm, buddy."

Though his arm was useless, his shoulder wasn't. Iwaizumi jerked it back to pull free from Terushima's hands. With narrowed eyes, he consumed the rest of the drink that had been handed to him. "So, what do you mean? I go around with an immobile arm for the rest of my life?"

"No, not at all," Akaashi hummed. A rather suggestive smile hung on his face as he began shrugging off his coat, nearly implying ulterior motives, and spurring a noticeable bark from Iwaizumi in protest. Slowly, he rolled up the sleeves of the button-down he wore, turning the cuffs into relaxed loose bunches around his elbows. With one hand, he reached to the other and pressed his fingers upon the top and bottom of his wrist, as if pushing switches. The veins on his arms lit up, suddenly flashing to a muted shade of pink as panels began to give way to reveal almost weaponized, mechanical plating in his arm with rosy circuitry woven through them. "We're going to remove your arm. Getcha a cool weaponized one instead."


	10. #e3ba0c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two week updates are now going to be the norm! As per the request of Raernix, they've suggested I start doing two week updates since it makes my writing smoother as well as the editing process! So we're now going to be aiming for every other week for updates, how does that sound? Furthermore! Special shout out to spigaroses on tumblr for drawing Ushijima! Please check out their art! It's GORGEOUS! The picture is absolutely stunning and is currently my phone background!
> 
> We're looking at probably one more update before I move to upstate New York next month, and hey! If you're in the upstate NY (Buffalo/Rochester) area or right over the Canadian border, hmu! I'd love to meet you!
> 
> I'm just really happy to have so much support from everyone, and I really thrive on your comments, so if you wanna leave me some motivation, trust me, it will DEFINITELY speed up my writing!

"I don't know if I like it. . ." Oikawa murmured softly as his fingertips traced over the palm of Iwaizumi's hand. It had been two weeks since Iwaizumi had survived the attempt at being forcibly transferred, and he'd been going for regular appointments in order to learn how to use the bionic arm. He was fortunate that the arm lacked anything visible in regards to its artificial nature. Not that he was particularly against the technology, it was just a struggle for him to accept that this arm wasn't the same as the one he'd grown up with. Its skin still felt like his, covered in the same familiar blemishes, but it was still unnatural for the organic.

"It's still me," Iwaizumi said quietly as he watched the little details that Oikawa began to trace in his hand. Since their moment in Oikawa's cafe, it had become almost ritualistic for the both of them to trace words of encouragement in one another’s palms. While the hand was not the same one he used for telling Oikawa's fortune, the tracing gesture reciprocated on his hand was his little reminder that this was survivable. If they could endure Oikawa's memories restoring, they could endure Iwaizumi adjusting to losing a limb.

Though the process had been simple -- he was put under, his arm was amputated and circuitry was woven into his system and adhered to nerve endings and an artificial one was attached instead. When he came to, he’d become all too aware of how heavy arms were and it took a fair amount of adjusting to the limb at his side. He didn’t ask where his original arm went, and he felt he was better off not knowing. The interesting thing about the bionic limbs was how quickly they were usable for the patient. It wasn’t even a day before Iwaizumi was able to use it like an ordinary arm, but of course, he still had some limitations to overcome. A few weeks of physical therapy, as he was told, was all it took. Yet, he was so much more tired than he had expected to be.

"Its circuits are pink, Iwaizumi." Oikawa pressed on his partners wrist to illuminate the artificial veins into the warm shade of pink that complemented his own turquoise. ". . .Are you sure?"

They had been sitting in a small restaurant across the street from Fukurodani labs where they'd chosen to meet for lunch after Iwaizumi's rehabilitation. Empty cups of espresso were slid to the tables edge while Oikawa examined Iwaizumi's arm for what seemed like the thousandth time. Swatting at Oikawa's fingers on his wrist, Iwaizumi shut the glowing of the bionic off, fearful about what might happen if someone were to glimpse the theoretically taboo color. Oikawa's hands withdrew as he straightened, back pressed into the faux leather of the booth, fingers drumming lightly on the plexiglass surface of the table.

"S-Sorry, Iwa-chsan." Oikawa's face lit up brightly as he rubbed at the back of his head, tongue sticking out slightly. "Forgot again."

The memories were starting to upload more regularly. Every day, Oikawa seemed to recall more and more finite details about their relationship, and every day he found it necessary to remind Iwaizumi of something embarrassing. Just that morning, Oikawa thought it was necessary to remind Iwaizumi of a time where he’d gone on a date with a girl in junior high, only to find his fly had been down the entire evening. Though it drove him positively mad, it was a sign that things were progressing, and Iwaizumi couldn't be angry with him. It was an altogether calming sort of ordeal instead. Oikawa was on the path to recovering and sooner rather than later, he would be his old self again. Even if that meant Oikawa shaking him awake at three in the morning to whisper something about the time Iwaizumi wet his pants in second year of grade school, Iwaizumi couldn't be mad.

Some of the memories at this point were fleeting. Oikawa would remember something in the morning but that evening he'd have already forgotten, only for it to return to him the next morning again. Oikawa may have woken up one morning, recalling that it was a certain day of the week where Iwaizumi was prone to going jogging before he left work. Yet when Iwaizumi returned home an hour later, Oikawa was panic stricken, unaware that the other had done as he always did during this routine. One thing Iwaizumi had been grateful for was that Oikawa had remembered his eating habits. Oikawa made no question as to Iwaizumi’s rice scooping habits, nor his need to always leave the outer edge of his egg on his plate. He'd come to accept that Iwaizumi was one of those eaters. He was the type to wipe off the foam from the inside of his espresso cup and lick it from his finger, like he was doing presently.

"It's alright," he said with a slight grumble as he beckoned over a waitress with pale green circuitry around her wrists. "Excuse me ma'am, another espresso for me, and you have milk bread don't you? Great, could you bring two pieces?"

With the order taken and the empty espresso cups taken, Oikawa rose an eyebrow at Iwaizumi smiling playfully. "You normally don't like sweets, Iwaizumi. What's the occasion?"

"They're both for you. You always complain about how one piece is never enough." The second espresso came long before the dessert did and Iwaizumi's finger wiped away the  foam along the rim and dipped his finger into his mouth in a far more suggestive motion than it needed to be. "Figured I'd treat you with how rough this has been on us lately."

"You're too good to me."

"Yeah, says the idiot who called me a ‘nasty brute’ before he remembered who I am." Iwaizumi found himself laughing, a light pleasant feeling rushing through him. Oikawa had relaxed in his seat, and the expression he normally wore as part of his bravado had melted away revealing the much calmer, much happier Synthetic Iwaizumi had bonded with years ago. His eyes, though always bright, lacked the familiar glimmer that he wore when he was wearing his front, and his lips had contorted into a pleasant, humble smile. He was happy, and everything about him showed that none of it had been forced. It was genuinely Oikawa.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa were repairing a broken relationship due to the fault of the universe, not their own doing, and it felt like they had just started dating again. Their outings were casual, very similar to the coffee they were sharing that very afternoon. Nothing too extreme, and nothing that would put either of them in an awkward position. Of course, as always people would come up and ask them about the status of their relationship, to which one or both of them (sometimes in unison) would say “the media’s wrong. We’re still together.” Despite the interruptions, it had all been a rather blissful experience.

Akaashi hadn't been wrong when he said that Iwaizumi would get to watch Oikawa fall in love with him all over again. But what he hadn't added was that Iwaizumi would fall for Oikawa again too. Every time Oikawa’s gaze pulled away from Iwaizumi and he listlessly tried to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear, Iwaizumi found his heart fluttering in a silent plea, begging him to do it again. The gentle crook of Oikawa’s finger as the hair curled around the knuckles was so simplistically lovely that Iwaizumi couldn’t help but be captivated by the gesture and the sweet, practically demure curve of his lips. God, Iwaizumi hadn’t wanted to kiss Oikawa so badly in years. He’d spent a long part of his life wanting to kiss the Synthetic across from him, and now, even though he had him, the need to kiss him again was just as intense.

Though a couple weeks had passed, Oikawa had still not kissed Iwaizumi since their exchange in the hallway. Oikawa kept insisting that it wasn’t time, it wasn’t time. He wasn’t ready to kiss Iwaizumi again, even though he was ‘so handsome’ and so ‘kissable.’ But, Iwaizumi supposed he could blame himself for that, he'd been so passionate and so eager to have Oikawa against him and he hadn't been able to scratch his itch properly. He’d tried to ask Oikawa to give him something after the arm had been replaced, but alas, he was still being rejected. Eventually, they came to a compromise.

" _Why don't you fool around with Akaashi since the two of you are so close. Or maybe someone else? Didn't we have something arranged with him before?_ "

It was embarrassing to think about, but one of Oikawa's restored memories had been one Iwaizumi had been hoping he might hold off recalling until later on. A year or so earlier, after finding that Akaashi had been having a difficult keeping a relationship going due to his work, Iwaizumi and Oikawa had discussed something over. Akaashi, despite his job, was a very sexual person, but one-night flings weren't his style. So the couple had decided that they would allow Akaashi to sleep with either of them while he was between relationships. They wouldn’t have necessarily said that Akaashi was involved with them romantically, but he had been a bedroom partner on more than one occasion.

Thankfully, that had worked in their favor. Bionic limbs were quick to heal (usually with a thirty-six hour turn around due to advancements in science) and after three days of seeing Akaashi for assistance, things took a turn for the best. Or something to that extent. Akaashi’s hand had brushed against Iwaizumi's thigh as he was testing his reflexes. And, as if he had been anticipating it, he had noticed the tint of color on Iwaizumi's face as he flushed from the contact of the other’s hand. He'd laughed, patting Iwaizumi on the thigh and asked “Need a little help?” Try as he might to deny it, Iwaizumi had been caught and he was more than willing to accept Akaashi’s offer.

"You're feeling better aren't you?" Oikawa asked tearing into the first piece of milk bread that had been delivered to him. "I mean, with your _rehab_." He whispered quietly, teasing the ethicist for his neediness. "Is Akaashi helping?"

"He is helping _my arm_ just fine." Iwaizumi snorted as he sipped his espresso, eyes narrowed over the porcelain, oblivious to the rosy shade of his cheeks.

“Well, how about your _third leg_?” Oikawa laughed much louder than he had to, causing Iwaizumi to set down his espresso a bit roughly, sputtering a string of incomprehensible (but embarrassed) insults toward his partner. Naturally, Oikawa found this all to be quite humorous, laughing at Iwaizumi’s expense before he abandoned the piece of milk bread for a second and reached across the table to pat Iwaizumi's hand resting upon the table top. "Maybe soon, okay?" he asked. "Iwa-chan's been so grumpy and I just don't feel right yet. But soon!" He smiled warmly, giving Iwaizumi's hand a squeeze while the ethicist slid the cup and saucer to the side with the other.

"You called me Iwa-chan." he observed, his heart performing the common shuddering that he'd found himself victim to whenever he saw Oikawa smile as of late. Everything pulsed and then stopped for a moment as Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa’s playful demeanor. It wasn’t even a genuinely tender moment between them. Oikawa was mentioning of his desires to sleep with Iwaizumi -- not love making, or anything mushy. Sex. Plain and simple. But the little inclusion of “Iwa-chan” made it all seem much more innocent.

"I did, didn't I?" Oikawa mused pleasantly, chuckling warmly clearly amused by his (in his perspective) slip up. "I didn't even realize, I can go back to calling you Iwai--"

"Don't." Iwaizumi interrupted, finding that Oikawa had willingly taken his bionic hand, interlocking their fingers. "I've been waiting for you to say Iwa-chan again, and it's. It's good. Call me Iwa-chan." There was obvious insecurity in the way the words tumbled out of Iwaizumi’s mouth, but he’d concluded that although unceremonious, they were the correct ones. He made eye contact with Oikawa who had (during Iwaizumi's momentary distraction) stuck the slice of milk bread in his mouth as if he were running late to school. Though he'd had a softened smile on his face it quickly fell into a grimace upon looking at his lover, who was poised like a dumb high schooler. "...You've got three seconds to take the bread out of your mouth or I'm leaving you."

Oikawa's mouth opened, and the bread fell upon the table, shock and horror washing over him as he sank back into his seat, arms folded. His lower lip stuck out, twitching slightly as he aimed to make it the single most powerful lip quiver to ever befall him, but a short glance to Iwaizumi to make eye contact assure him it was a wasted effort. "And here I thought you loved me, no matter what."

"I love Oikawa Tooru, not a toddler."

* * *

 

"Hey Akaashi?" Terushima’s voice chimed up as the programmer tapped away on a keyboard. The screen flashed briefly with a message reading "Are you sure want to delete this file?" Clicking OK and removing the file permanently from his system, Akaashi spun around in his chair to watch as Terushima's now traditionally golden circuits flickered a shade of pink momentarily.

"Ha, they're acting up again, aren't they?" he asked, rolling the chair across the room. "Ever since you countered Bokuto's hacking they've been acting so strangely." Sighing, perplexed, he pulled a small section of USB cable from his pocket. Turning the Synthetic’s head to the side, Akaashi hooked the strip of wire into the back of Terushima's neck and plugged it into his computer. "Let me adjust your stability again, alright?"

"Well, that's not what I was gettin' at." Terushima snorted , rolling his eyes as he followed the length of the cable to stand against the wall nearest Akaashi's computer before ultimately sliding into a stationary chair. "I was gonna ask about something else."

"Hm?" Akaashi glanced up at him looking past the rim of his glasses. Another flicker of Terushima's circuits and he pulled open another program that revealed the coding for the Synthetic. The window flashed, with Terushima’s name hovering near the top of the page, followed by his hex code and a couple other unique identifiers. It was in here where people could make adjustments to a Synthetic’s data. It would require various medical licenses in order to have access to coding regarding one’s personality, and luckily, Akaashi had such clearances. Tampering with the code wasn't anything difficult for the programmer, particularly when it involved adjusting hex codes to regulate negative personality quirks, but making the change permanent required constant upkeep. "You know I can't tell you everything, Yuuji."

"I know, but after all I’ve done for ya, don't you kinda owe it to me to let me in on this one?" he asked, head craning to the side as he rubbed at his neck, finding the cable to be somewhat itchy. He rolled his eyes -- the typically saffron irises were offset by a ring of pink around the pupil. "I know -- I know -- you don't have to go on about the whole,” He held his hands up, flexing the middle and index fingers to form air quotations. “'you're going to get in over your head if you know' crap. But I gotta know. 'Cause I bet you do --"

" _What_ do I know, Yuuji?" Akaashi asked, never faltering in his work as the code on the screen reflected in his eyes. His voice lowered, laced with a heavy implication that there may be a threat coming on. "You might want to be particularly careful with your word choice, considering I have all your coding open right now." Akaashi’s fingers tapped along the glass surface of his desk, his gaze jerking up to make eye contact with the Synthetic in a domineering, alpha-like display. "You might force the hand of god, and it just might slip."

Terushima was taken aback, twitching reflexively as if Akaashi were about to do something hasty. His hands rose up with palms outspread to reassure the man buried in his coding that he meant no harm. "Come on, I only want to ask one thing, Akaashi. Nothing big."

"It's nothing _big_ if I go ahead and delete your memory bank of the last six months too. " Akaashi’s response was too quickly spoken and the promised threat brought to the surface. His fingers tapped along the keyboard, scrolling up to a few particular lines of coding that referred to the memory banks of the Synthetic lab assistant. He glanced up toward Terushima, expression blank aside for a raised eyebrow that dared Terushima to say something off-color.

"I want to know why Iwaizumi, okay!?" Despite the risk of the highlighted coding, Terushima too the chance. It was a risky thing for Terushima to ask knowing that Akaashi could easily cause him to malfunction. And from the looks of it, Akaashi wouldn’t be willing to restore Terushima to an earlier configuration. "I get that you're friends and all, but this seems really weird to me.” Relieved to find that Akaashi hadn’t switched the few characters that would have him speaking German, he continued. “Why're people going after him? It can't just be because he's a celebrity, right?"

He was lucky. Akaashi had decided to close out of the program giving Terushima the chance to act out another day. Once more, his fingers tapped against the glass, humming softly. He offered another glance up at Terushima, and his lips tugged into a light smirk. "Hmm, I wonder."

This was Terushima's cue to shut his mouth. And to leave it shut.

 

Akaashi Keiji was an interesting individual. No one quite knew precisely what his entire background was in, or where he actually ended up getting his degree from. There were countless rumors among academia and the Synthetic field alike. Several people, all from different subject areas could vouch for attending school with the programmer, but no one could say for certain what Akaashi had been studying. Many theorized he had been a child prodigy of sorts, having obtain multiple licenses and degrees over the course of his life thus far, but the truth behind it all was fuzzy. After all, Akaashi could confirm he did have a background in nearly each field he was questioned about.

Akaashi was a private man, but that was an understatement if he had ever heard one.. He didn't have any social networks to participate in. His only email addresses were sequences of numbers and letters so he couldn't be traced. His only reason for a cellphone was for work related purposes and his meager number of personal contacts. Perhaps he could even be called paranoid. Akaashi was prone to recording all of his findings and research by hand. What he did have to type out, he saved into multiple external drives or printed out, only to delete the original document on his computer to avoid it being accessed without authorization. Paranoid or not, he was quite content with people not knowing anything about him, and that was how he liked things. Not even Bokuto, years-old friend and companion, knew everything about Akaashi Keiji.

If one were to search about Akaashi Keiji, they wouldn’t be able to find anything other than the basics: he worked for Fukurodani Labs as lead Synthetic programmer, and he specialized in data retrieval and restoration. Any information regarding his education or the like was conveniently displaced on his biographies. Not even a birthdate or a reading of his name in kanji would be collected upon searching for him. Naturally, given his enigmatic history, many conspiracy pages came up, suggesting Akaashi wasn't even a real person but a program designed by various Synthetic technicians to cover up their their work history. But really, at the end of the day, when Akaashi stumbled upon these search results, he would sip his coffee and muse to himself, “What is a real person anyways?” And in an age of Synthetics and artificial humans, the question was all too close to home for many who asked it.

He knew people were fascinated by him. Though people hounded him for information, the thought of indulging them often made him roll his eyes. It was why he liked to leave things cryptic when he was asked questions about himself. Giving straight forward answers was never his style. What sort of food did he like? Food that didn't upset his stomach. What were his sleeping habits? The sort where he closed his eyes. How about his favorite color? Something on the visible spectrum. It took a lot to get close to him. And maybe that was why there was so much curiosity regarding Iwaizumi lately. After all, he had earned some (not all) of Akaashi’s trust.

Akaashi's interest in his friend and colleague was a curious thing. He couldn’t even quite understand it himself, sometimes. He had many reasons why he had his focus on Iwaizumi, regardless of their friendship. But he couldn’t say, he couldn’t admit it to himself. Whatever it had been, Iwaizumi had gotten between Akaashi and people who were eager to find things out about him. Friendship aside, Iwaizumi was someone Akaashi had to protect and for more than one reason.

 

* * *

 

Terushima Yuuji had been quite the pain in the ass not just for the Japanese government and their war on cybercrime, but the entire world. A delinquent and a troublemaker his entire life, Terushima was responsible for more than three dozen cases of malicious hacking in a four year period. His actions had resulted in the loss of bank records throughout the Americas, malfunctions of New Soviet drones and roughly a half dozen nationwide blackouts. Though long untraceable, his total crimes reached into the hundreds spanning close to a decade. Terushima had been considered a menace and when he was finally caught, was sentenced to solitary imprisonment with his internal data receptors turned off. At the age of nineteen, Terushima Yuuji had been listed as the youngest cyber terrorist of the past twenty years. And it was all thanks to his Synthetic wiring and the playfully pink circuits he wore.

During his time behind bars, Terushima had taken to turning his circuitry off, pressing at the various little switches on his person that would turn off the glowing hex code.. He didn't like to flaunt his pink coding, although at this point almost everyone knew. Being in a youth Synthetic detention center exposed him to many teens and young adults with violet, fuchsia or pink circuitry so it was only natural there was a sort of fight for dominance. Terushima, despite being a threat, wasn’t about the life of competition.

When Terushima was allowed out of solitary confinement to interact with other Synthetics, he was more than just a threat. He was a nuisance. Even though his global internet access had been disabled, Terushima had found it incredibly easy to latch on to the local wireless and tamper with the other Synthetics, identifying each one by their particular IP, and making their lives hell. He made a mockery of most of the other detainees, but it was only a matter of time before he was apprehended for good, his internet access removed and locked back into his solitary confinement.

As far as the legal system had planned, Terushima was to be behind bars for the next fifteen years, giving him his freedom in his mid thirties. By the time the Fukurodani labs had heard of him and sought to use him, three of those years had already been served. Three years where Terushima had been nearly isolated from other lifeforms. With next to no interaction, Terushima was starved for socialization with other humans, whether they be organic or Synthetic.

 

With the swipe of a card key, the door at the end of a long hall leading toward Terushima's cell opened, and through it stepped a young man with dark, somewhat unbrushed hair dressed in a labcoat. A guard sitting watch requested the ID of the individual entering, offering clearance after the card key, among other identification were offered over. Upon the concrete floor, smoothed from years of feet treading upon its surface, canvas sneakers tapped sequentially toward the glass cell door where the Synthetic remained inside. Through perforations in the glass, the figure leaned forward, knocking gently so not to startle the prisoner.

"Who the hell are you?" the Synthetic, lounging on his bed, sneered as he brought himself to his feet. His hair, longer than he preferred it and blonde along the edges from a bleach job performed shortly before his arrest, hung in his eyes. He exhaled in a quick wisp to blow the strewn bangs aside before tucking them behind his ear. "You another case worker for the ethical treatment of Synthetic criminals?"

The gold eyes of the individual scanned around the cell -- as far as he was concerned, he probably should be there on behalf of the Ethical Treatment of Synthetic Criminal Committee, but that was for another venture. His fingers drummed slowly on a small counter that extended from the door where paperwork and meals were frequently slid through -- a single bed, a toilet and sink, a bench and a table. All of it in aged chrome, and clearly not meant for extended human usage. All of it was encased in a muted grey concrete room with only the smallest of windows inset in the top right corner of the wall, nearing the ceiling hanging just above the bed. "I really ought to be with the state of this cell, it's like you're not human to them."

"Wow, you know it's funny.” He seethed, leaning forward to the door to make a face at his guest. “Because, according to them I'm not." Terushima snorted and sat on the corner of his bed, gesturing to his surroundings. "The hell do you want? You didn't even answer my damn question so go ahead and explain yourself before I permanently shut myself down."

"Charming." The individual sighed, as he glanced back at the guard who had made eye contact with him. From within the stark white labcoat he wore, the individual raised an ID card again and the guard scrambled to his feet, exiting the hallway. With their surroundings emptied, his focus returned to the Synthetic. "Would you mind if I came in, I hate hallways. I always feel trapped."

"And a cell wouldn't make you feel that way?" the prisoner sneered. "You're at a dead end no matter what."

"Your sad excuse for a window is enough for me to feel more secure, so if you don't mind." He pulled the card key from his pocket again and slid it through the reader on the door, opening the glass pane for him to step inside. The door closed behind him as he slipped the card back into its concealed pocket. With another assessment of the cell, he cleared his throat, speaking once again. "Now that I can speak to you just slightly more directly, my name is Akaashi Keiji and I am the lead programmer at Fukurodani Labs, and I've come here to seek your assistance."

Terushima leaned back on his bed while he stretched his legs out, while Akaashi took a seat on the bench across the room, his hands resting in his lap. "You serious? That guy who's got all those awards for --"

"Yes, _that guy_." Akaashi confirmed, annoyed that someone would address him so casually. "And yes, I am here for you."

A laugh rippled through the small confined cell as Terushima did little to suppress his humor at the situation. "You're here for me? Well, I hate to break it to ya buddy, but I'm totally denied any access to other human beings unless they're organic, and last I checked, we're at a two-thirds Synthetic population. So, it ain't gonna happen."

"I've already obtained clearance for your release if you accept my terms," Akaashi muttered as he retrieved a small manilla folder from within his jacket, seemingly having been concealed upon his entrance. He reached over the space between the bed and the bench, offering it to the Synthetic. "Before reading it over, I want you to know one thing -- this does not guarantee permanent release unless I deem your work satisfactory. But what it will guarantee is you will have constant access to other people, organic and Synthetic, a place to live, actual food, not whatever it is they feed you here and above all. . .You will have your internal wireless turned back on." A deviant sort of smirk hung on Akaashi’s lips at the final statement. He knew that above anything, Terushima wanted to be online again.

As the Synthetic began to study the folder, Akaashi too had a chance to study. Terushima was young -- younger than Akaashi was, that was certain. According to what he had researched, Terushima had contracted Wakatoshi Syndrome when he was an infant and had spent his entire life in a Synthetic body. Unfortunately, Terushima exhibited pink circuitry and behaviors early on and was ultimately abandoned and thrust into the foster system. He'd bounced from family to family, never quite having the chance to make a true connection with anyone. It was a pitiable aspect of him, and in a way, Akaashi was offering the chance at connecting to him by giving him the opportunity for freedom. He had known that Terushima had always exhibited some sort of insecurity regarding his circuitry (his file said so), and so it was no surprise that various patches of artificial flesh had been peeled away and parts of his plating exposed to reveal circuits that had been torn or snapped.

"My file's here," Terushima said, his voice lacking the same bite his previous words did. His hand flicked against the papers within. "My hex code is #ff94b7, not #f49fbb. Close though." The Synthetic had gone silent, but his eyes continued to look over the edge of the folder as he examined it. A pierced eyebrow rose curiously as his knuckles continued to rap against the page the file was currently open to. "You serious about some of this stuff?"

Akaashi nodded. "Absolutely, and I'll have you know that if you agree to my terms, that file will have to be destroyed the second we leave this building. It's highly classified information." Akaashi fished around in his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, and without even asking for Terushima's consent, lit one up and offered the pack to the Synthetic. Terushima shook his head, raising a hand in rejection to the smokes. "Having reviewed the contents, I'll ask. Do we have a deal? If yes, get your --" He glanced around the cell, noting the meager collection of personal effects. "Belongings and come with me. If no, I'll need access to your data panel in order to remove these events from your memory."

"Sounds threatening." Terushima snorted, offering the folder back to Akaashi once he put the cigarettes back where they belonged. "And dangerous. Kinda like it."

"I thought you would," Akaashi mused, puffing on the cigarette. "Your hex code indicates an affinity for social discord, sexual deviance and rebellious intolerance, so I figured my offer would be appealing."

And so, with a proud, nearly excitable grin on Terushima's face, he leaned forward on the bed's edge, extending a hand to Akaashi. "Deal. I'm in."

* * *

 

" _And in other news, Iwaizumi Hajime has still been avoiding the public eye since his announcement last month regarding Synthetic Memory Deletion. Sources say that Iwaizumi has been seen entering Fukurodani labs on multiple occasions, but as many would say: what else is new? Rumor has it that since the termination of his relationship with Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi has been getting friendly with the labs very own Akaashi Keiji, Japan's leading Synthetic technician and programmer. Akaashi could not be reached for comment._ "

"Ugh turn that shit off," Iwaizumi groaned as he slumped on to the couch next to Oikawa. The Synthetic was bundled up in one of Iwaizumi's sweatshirts, and his knees tucked up to his chest, a pillow scrunched up between them. "Don't sit like that, you're going to irritate your knee." Iwaizumi brushed his hand over Oikawa’s knee in a way that could be perceived as tickling, but without the risk of upsetting him.

"You know it's psychosomatic." Oikawa grumbled, his legs relaxing and stretching out along the floor, scrunching up the rug with his feet. It was only momentary before he extended his right leg out to rest on the underside of the coffee table to elevate it slightly."It's only -- "

"I know. Your knee's only fucked up now because it was messed up before the transfer and it's a psychological trick. _I know_. I only took six classes on Synthetic psychology in college." Almost affectionately, Iwaizumi whapped the Synthetic with a couch cushion before promptly taking it back and putting it over his face, muffling his voice. "Please, turn the television off. I'm so tired of this crap."

Oikawa did as he was told and pressed the power button on the remote, giving Iwaizumi his reprieve from the media. Silence filled the small apartment for a moment, allowing the young couple to revel in a moment of solitude together. Though Oikawa and Iwaizumi were still far from rekindling their romance, the silence was now a welcome feeling. The two of them could enjoy one another's company without the pressure for conversation. They didn’t need to speak. They only needed each other. It was better than a date. While on dates couples often talk and shoot the breeze. This silent night in reassured them both that they didn’t have to communicate with their words. They were one step closer to being whole again.

"You know it's not true, so why let it bother you?" He suggested, his hand resting upon Iwaizumi's shoulder. He squeezed gently, offering some sort of comfort to his partner, suddenly deciding this was a good idea to do so. It felt right. Oikawa’s arm slinked around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, and rested his head against him, using the other as a living pillow.

"Because I'm constantly having to explain myself!" Iwaizumi groaned into the pillow before pulling it free. He turned his head to the side to look at Oikawa, lips tugged into a smile in response to the massaging at his shoulder. "Wouldn't you hate to constantly repeat the same story over and over? I never asked to become well known for my work, but here I am." Through the explanation, Oikawa's hand on his shoulder pressed more firmly, kneading in just slightly to relieve some of the tenseness in his muscles.

"...Do you want me to keep going?" Oikawa asked, withdrawing his hand a moment, as his knuckles rocked against where the organic muscle met the artificial muscle of Iwaizumi's bionic arm. "I'm not sure if you still like this."

"No, holy crap -- please don't stop." Iwaizumi added as he visibly relaxed in Oikawa's grip. "Since they switched out my arm I've been so tense. Like I'm constantly having to clench a fist. It's horrible, and that feels so good, shit."

"Well, turn around then. I can't very well rub your back if I can't reach it."

With some shuffling, Iwaizumi adjusted his position on the couch, showing his back to the Synthetic. Perhaps it was because of his struggle for touch that he tugged his shirt off and discarded it on to the floor. Surprisingly, his shoulder was lacking any scar tissue where it had been replaced, but that didn't mean the area was any less tender. On top of the amputation, the struggle of graduate school and the stress of coping with Oikawa’s malfunction, Iwaizumi was in a tolerable amount of pain. Having some of it relieved, however, was a godsend.

Luckily for Iwaizumi, Oikawa had become somewhat more comfortable with the idea of placing his hands on him. His fingers worked naturally, twisting and kneading and pinching flesh and muscles in all the right places to make his lover visibly relax, comfort easily washing over him. His normally stiff shoulders sagged after just a moment or two and within a few minutes Iwaizumi's grunts had become pleasant purrs of delight.

He shifted about again, this time surprising Oikawa, as he lowered himself, stretching out on the couch to press his head comfortably in the Synthetic's lap. Iwaizumi's eyes remained closed, face peaceful and serene from the affectionate (and much needed) rubbing of his back and shoulders.

Though initially he whined in protest, Oikawa quickly assimilated to Iwaizumi's head upon his legs and laughed, his fingers combing through the organic’s dark hair. "Iwa-chan is so lovely when he's calm." Oikawa mused, his tone humorous and good-natured. "And with his eyes closed, he looks like he's twelve again."

"You're twelve." Iwaizumi retorted, his arms crossed over his chest, his face unmoving momentarily as his face contorted into a faux grimace..

"Mm, yes and with that sort of insult, Iwa-chan is definitely showing his age."

Another peaceful, domestic moment for the two of them came and passed. In the world they lived in, moments like this were often hard to come by. And for a Synthetic with his memories tampered with, tenderness such as theirs was a godsend. It was a reprieve from the struggles they had been faced with.

It was a reminder of what they were fighting for.


	11. #ae324b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! FINALLY! I SHOW UP 15 DAYS LATE WITH A JOB SELLING STARBUCKS.  
> But okay so I really want to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. The move to New York from Georgia too a lot more out of me than I expected it to. I've had so much amazing support from my readers and my betas during this time that I'm just so honored to have you in my life. And as thanks?
> 
> You're getting a dual release. As in Chapter 12 is about finished and we're expected to be done with it by 10/12 (no promises, but we're super close!). But god, trust me, this has been a hectic couple weeks for me and I'm super glad to have you all here. Going to promo a little thing for you all by sharing this playlist right here: http://8tracks.com/semieita/we-are-scientists with art by perishxsong. I'm working on piecing together a couple of playlists to better express the mood of this story.
> 
> But man, I really just cannot thank you guys enough for supporting me through all this, and I hope you'll keep sticking around. <3 I'm going to be at AUSA in Washington, D.C. at the end of the month so if you were going to be there I'd love to say hello!
> 
> Also, alternate title for this chapter: People are dying from the war and from espionage but let me tell you about Oikawa's day.
> 
> As always, huge thanks to Raernix and skyestiel for helping me edit. You're absolute angels. <3

"Aren't you too pretty to be a soldier?"

It was a question that Semi Eita had heard far too often for his liking, particularly while he was training for military service. He was considerably attractive and sought after by several modeling agencies, but, with good reason, he had decided he was better suited to military service. In spite of his achievements in the field, people rarely took him seriously when they saw him in uniform, assuming he was too delicate to fire a weapon.

It was only when he rolled up his sleeves to show off the red-violet circuits interwoven through his skin that people felt threatened. Only when he hit his assigned target, without an ounce of hesitation, did people finally understand. He was a trusted military asset.

Semi’s performance in the military made up for the assumptions regarding his looks. However, he could still hear the doubt in the voices of his fellow soldiers when he had his back turned. How could they be sure that he would remain a disciplined soldier? What was stopping him from losing control and slaughtering them all?

Semi didn’t have that kind of circuit. But of course they wouldn’t know.

To them, pink was still pink.

Transferred at the age of seven, Semi was blessed with an attractive Synthetic body and cursed with circuits in a reddish shade of pink. Because of this, Semi had been mistaken his entire life for either a pretty boy or a monster. He was no fool, and he knew from what television told him that circuits like his meant he wasn't a good person. If television hadn't told him, his mother swearing at him the day of his release from the hospital for being a freak certainly did. He wasn’t her son.

He was thrust into the foster program quickly and lingered there for a several years. He watched children of other circuit colors be picked out and brought into loving homes, and he was always reassured that he'd find one of his own.

In hindsight, who would want a child with circuits that indicated potential for anger issues and violent outbursts.

Semi would see adults approaching him seeking a child, and he would immediately grow nervous, and tug at his sleeves to hide his forearms. The parents would comment on what a lovely child he was, hair a pale shade of ashen blond, and eyes still holding the original umber color from his years as an organic human. They would compliment Semi, asking him all sorts of questions, getting his hopes up as always -- and his pink would flicker.

There was one couple, however that often came to see Semi and he regarded them fondly. They were young, but established, and they would stop by frequently to visit, and from time to time, spend the day out with him. He was cautious around them; although they were considerate and genuinely showed interest in his well-being, he could never be sure. He could never be positive whether this couple wanted to make him a part of their family, so he made sure that whenever they were around his sleeves wouldn't roll up easily. They didn't know, so he didn't want to risk it.

Semi had no friends at the foster center. Most children were too afraid to get near a pink Synthetic like him. Yet, one day shortly after his ninth birthday, a boy approached him, tapping him on the shoulder to alert him of his presence. He tensed. Turning around he saw another child. Dark, disheveled hair and glasses too large for his face, he smiled sweetly at Semi, waving politely.

"Mom and Dad said you have pink lights on your arm and that I'd probably like that. Can I see?"

Instinctively, Semi pulled his hands to his chest, trying to cover his arms up despite them being heavily concealed within the long sleeves of his sweater. His eyes flickered, flashing from the earthy shade of brown to the same hue on his arms. His lips formed into a thin line, as he looked around frantically for an adult he could report the child to. How had a boy he’d never seen before already know about his circuits?

"They think it's cool," the boy stated, noting Semi's clear panic, pointing behind him. Standing near the front desk of the facility stood the young couple Semi had found himself growing attached to. Acknowledging him, the couple smiled, waving at the boy and causing Semi's heart to stop momentarily.

"They...they know?" Semi croaked out in something of a nervous blurt. "They don't care?"

"Nope, they said they've been looking for a kid who's got pink, around my age," the child said, removing his glasses to clean them on the hem of his shirt. "They can't have another kid so they wanted to adopt someone who, um, can't have parents."

"They know it means I'm gonna be a bad person one day, right?" Semi grumbled, pushing up the stretched out sleeve, his nose scrunching. "Pink means that you're gonna be bad."

"Mom said that's only because there's something like, um, ‘psychological neglect’ involved when people are pink. She and Dad think that all you need is a good home, so they're going to bring you with us."

"So those are your parents?" Semi asked, craning his neck to look at the couple who were now filling out forms at the main desk. "Why can't they have more children? Are you like me too?"

"I'm organic," the boy said. "Mom's not anymore, and she can't have a brother for me. So they wanted to find one for me."

"We're brothers now? Just like that?"

"Yeah, guess so. Mom said they call you Eicchan here. It's funny 'cause she calls me that, too."

"So who's going to be Eicchan now?"

He reached down and took the hand of the child, the back of Semi’s hands flickered momentarily before the pink color trickled into place and sprung to life. "You can. I'm going to be twelve soon and I asked Mom to stop calling me that for my birthday."

"What do I call you then?" Semi asked, holding the other boys hand tightly.

"Nii-san."

  
  
  


At the rate things were going, Semi was positive his battery would only last him another week or so. Due to the regular altercations with Frankendroid, Semi was already slipping into his power reserves. It was truly laughable to him. Here he was, a secret reconnaissance agent with S.E.T.T.E.R.S., and he had been abducted by someone he was quite sure was his former colleague. For the second time in his life, he found himself a POW. That was one of the humorous things about the Shiratorizawa lab; he had no cage nor holding cell. He was permitted free roam of the labs and if he were to escape, it was fine. But what kept him grounded here was that they had stripped him of his standard battery and equipped him with a malfunctioning one that only gave him a short period of time to roam before needing to recharge. He was a prisoner due to inconvenience at this point and nothing more.

Shiratorizawa's labs were maze-like, partially underground, and Semi had no idea as to how deep in the labs he was. He could attempt to break away but couldn't bring himself to. The risk was great, and he'd been in positions like this before. Escape was possible, but the success rate was low.

What had made his confinement tolerable was the presence of a familiar face: Kageyama. Although he was familiar to Semi, it would not be mutual. Each day, Kageyama would locate Semi in the labs, test his batteries, and spend some time with the former soldier. Semi liked to think it was because Kageyama recalled their relationship. After all, one can only spend so much time training someone before considering them as one of their own.

Semi watched as Kageyama began to untangle a section of wires in his calf after a section of flesh peeled away and a plate had come loose. Kageyama had been trained in performing on-the-spot repairs of his unit and typically was required to keep his hex code natural to avoid the impulses that came with his military sanctioned pink coding. "You've gotten faster," Semi commented one evening as Kageyama unhooked and rehooked a few cords to the appropriate input jacks.

"I'm helping you every day. Of course I have," Kageyama snorted as the tip of one of his fingers flipped back to reveal a soldering iron which he inserted in the open crevice of Semi's leg and resumed repairing the broken metal.

"No, I mean since Siberia," Semi commented. "Not to say you weren't good before, but you just did a job most professionals take close to thirty minutes to complete in, like five minutes. You've gotten fast."

"What are you talking about?" Kageyama grunted. "Siberia?"

"Come on, I know he didn't remove that much of your memory. I would've known if your drives were wiped. The rest of the unit would've been told and informed not to contact you." Semi leaned in and knocked upon Kageyama's forehead gently with his knuckle, offering an attempt at reassuring smirk.

When Semi first met Kageyama, he hadn't been fond of him, considering him to be arrogant and conceited. Perhaps it was a personal grudge against the soldier, given the cobalt hue of Kageyama's circuitry and the mere fact he never had to cope with the struggle of being abandoned by a family for his something out of his control. Resentful by nature, Semi had wanted to hate Kageyama during his early days in the service, but he was in no position to dislike him.

"I," Kageyama began, face scrunching up in response to the knocking upon his head. Though appearing annoyed initially, the muscles of his cheeks relaxed only for him to become overwhelmed with confusion, eyes downcast in contemplation. "...Was never in Sibera." He spoke softly as he closed up the faux flesh on Semi's leg. "You must have me confused with someone else."

"I know I don't," Semi snorted, sighing as he leaned in closer, shoving Kageyama in the shoulder. "You're special operative Osprey, and it's against protocol to disregard your superior even outside of warzones, so you should stop pretending Shirabu removed more of your memory than he actually did." A shrug came from the rosy-hued Synthetic, his arms folding across his chest. "I know he took something, but how much I can't be sure. It's definitely not your entire military service. For christ's sake, Tobio, me and Koushi were overseeing your progress from day one, and here you are -- denying that you even know me. Do I have to fuckin' sync with you to get you to spit it out or what?"

"Shut up," Kageyama hissed lowly as Semi's words became more aggressive, the hand still near the Synthetic's leg clutching him tightly. The artificial keratin of his nails dug into the skin, the tips flashing in the familiar azure before gradually transitioning to a warm shade of pink. "Don't you think I'm in enough shit here?"

A brow rose on Semi's head as he freed an arm and held out his hand to the other Synthetic. His palm was blinking a particular pattern. His fingertips shone brightly in his circuitry hex, and from the center, little strings of light blinked from his palm and up through his fingers towards the tips. He glanced down at his palm before making silent eye contact with Kageyama who proceeded to hold out his hand as well. A familiar pattern resonated on his palm in his own blue hex, yet as the seconds passed, the color slowly transitioned to a shade of pink.

With their hands pressed together, the pink grew brighter before it steadied into a soft white, which reflected itself in both Synthetics pupils. A trance-like state seemed to wash over them both as they remained silent with one another. The white flickered after a few seconds, and then Semi's hand closed tightly around Kageyama's. The younger's eyes widened briefly in their hazy state, pulsing pink once before return to blue once again. Semi's other arm extended, firmly clasping on Kageyama's shoulder.

"Hinata is real," he reassured him, confident now that he understood Kageyama’s position. "I want to get back to Koushi, you want to get back to Shouyou and Hitoka."

"We can't --" Kageyama began only for Semi's grip to tighten.

"We're still at war, Tobio. And we get out of here together or not at all."

Semi Eita was one of five elite soldiers in the organization S.E.T.T.E.R.S., and he wasn't afraid to remind people of that. The organization had spent many years believed to only be a conspiracy theory and nothing more. But when the Japanese military invaded the New Soviet Union, it was announced that S.E.T.T.E.R.S. had, in fact, been a real faction of the armed forces, led by an anonymous source. It was a reconnaissance and equal rights focused unit aimed for liberating Synthetic soldiers who were being utilized for only combat related duties. Semi was one of the commanders of one of the many units, responsible for finalizing any executive orders from above him.

As one of the five elites in S.E.T.T.E.R.S. Semi was privvy to documentation of whom among the elite operatives was the actual commander of the entire organization. Unfortunately, it meant that Semi was under orders that if he were ever captured, he would be required to wipe his entire life's memories -- or kill everyone who got close.

The ideals behind S.E.T.T.E.R.S. was that the only people to be harmed were those who led to the oppression of humans -- whether human or organic. Synthetic footsoldiers were not to be harmed in any way that went past a temporary deactivation and decommissioning of combat utilities. Though this was the ideal, it could not be followed on the opposing end of of the gun. The enemy was not willing to compromise for this style of combat, and so enlisting in S.E.T.T.E.R.S. was almost a guaranteed death wish for anyone unprepared for what it had to offer.

In the span of five years, S.E.T.T.E.R.S. had enlisted over eight hundred special operatives, and in the current year -- under a hundred remained. Although Semi was able to avoid the expected fate of someone with pink circuits, he was not able to avoid tragedy. He had witnessed entire squadrons fall, either due to their circuitry being shorted by foreign technology or from common weaponry.

 

Though Semi Eita had a considerably tragic series of events in his life, as far as Oikawa Tooru was concerned, his life had become an absolute wreck.

* * *

 

He had reached a point where the memories that restored had been enough for him to return to daily life with Iwaizumi Hajime, but not enough for him to truly feel as if things were back to normal. On many occasions , he would find himself staring at Iwaizumi with a familiar sense of longing that he knew was love, but he had yet to fully understand how deep it ran. He couldn't quite figure out just when or how he had fallen for Iwaizumi in the first place and he was beginning to crave that sort of nostalgia; nostalgia for a nostalgia he didn't even know -- it was something completely absurd and Oikawa couldn't quite find himself able to explain how he felt.

But through the acts of restoration and the silent pining for his life to stabilize entirely, Oikawa had found that sleep was bringing about a new understanding of how the Synthetic mind worked. While Synthetic dreams were typically formed on memories condensed into a short period, Oikawa, as of late, felt as if he were still conscious when he entered his dreams. Recently, his dreams seemed to include him walking into a cybernetic room with windows displaying conversations he'd had with other people over the past few weeks.

While Oikawa looked through the conversations, they would alternate, and his attention would be taken from one discussion to another. Though some were with Iwaizumi, others with Akaashi or his co-workers, he would often find that the text had begun to change midway through the conversation. A hovering phrase would stand out in glaring pink letters, in contrast to the bright LED-like glow of blue that surrounded him.

"Come to Shiratorizawa."

The message from time to time would be spammed throughout every text box that Oikawa saw around him, blaring out and repeating over and over again. Something of a nightmarish demand from an unseen force. Something begging him. Something that caused Oikawa so much anxiety that it frequently shook him out of his sleep, delirious and unable to recall just what it was that startled him awake. Sweat beading upon his chest and rolling down over his abdomen, he would clutch at the silicone-replicated flesh to try and steady his breathing. The shift in bed would cause  Iwaizumi would stir, rolling over to look up at the shaken Synthetic who would quickly compose himself -- he knew he couldn't worry Iwaizumi anymore than he already had. With sleepy eyes, Iwaizumi would yawn and lazily reach out a hand to pat the nearest part of Oikawa's body in an attempt to reassure him that, yes, nightmares were indeed horrible.

At first, Iwaizumi had frantically tried to get Oikawa to tell him just what was bothering him, hoping to encourage him to talk about the nightmares that were hardly such. But Oikawa rarely recalled the episodes occurring in his subconscious. He often wound up shaking his head, refusing to talk about them. He would dismiss the need to discuss the bad dreams with an honest declaration that he couldn't remember what scared him so much. And with that, he would ease back into sleep for the rest of the night.

Only for the nightmare to return the next day.

But it was shortly after Iwaizumi had lost his arm that Oikawa found that the nightmares were no longer as terrifying, and the blaring message of "Come to Shiratorizawa" stopped giving off the impression of being horrifying but instead, unfortunate. Having been able to grasp a bit of consciousness one night, Oikawa had managed to say in response to the dialog: "Where is that?". At first, the demand was only repeated again, but after Oikawa asked the question a second time, he received a response. It made little sense to the Synthetic in his dreamlike state, but upon waking, a question hung upon his lips as he poured a cup of coffee for Iwaizumi.

"Iwa-chan," he asked quietly as he slid the cup across the table to his partner before meandering back into the kitchen to put water on for some tea himself. "Where's Sector 1-MG?"

"Sector 1-MG? It's a closed slum district," Iwaizumi commented around the edge of his cup as he sipped, grateful for the drinking temperature already present within the beverage. "It's been closed for maybe. . . twelve years? There was a big stink on the news about it when we were in high school. We'd gone on a field trip there in grade school to help bring supplies to the last school in the sector. Remember?"

"Not at all~" Oikawa hummed with a smirk on his lips as he looked past the counter to Iwaizumi, clearly in jest as he reminded him of the fact his memories had been erased. "In fact, I can't remember much of grade school if we're touching on that subject. You might want to remind me more of it sometime."

"Why'd you want to know?" Iwaizumi asked, pushing an application on his phone to bring up a hologram of a newspaper for the day's headlines. "You're not considering it for a honeymoon location right?" He rose a brow as he read over the front page article which, for the first time in ages, wasn't about him and Oikawa. "Please tell me no."

"The name came up in a dream," Oikawa added as he placed some tea into a ball and poured the near-boiling water over it, bringing it to the kitchen table to sit with Iwaizumi. "Someone told me I should go there."

"Is it the same nightmare you've been having?" Iwaizumi asked, opting to close the newspaper and set his phone aside to better pay attention to Oikawa rather than the mindless drabble that was the news. "Because if it is, I don't want you going there. There's been too much shit going on for us to risk something like that."

Leaning back in the chair, Oikawa waved a hand dismissively at Iwaizumi before folding his arms across his chest as he waited for the tea to cool. "I'm not an idiot, Iwa-chan, I was going to ask you to come with me anyways--"

"So it is a honeymoon. Answer's no." Iwaizumi's glare across the table could be seen through Oikawa's smug, closed eyes, forcing him to tear them open in annoyance with the man across from him.

"How rude. No, I wanted you to come along so we could explore --"

"We are NOT going to explore that place!" Iwaizumi nearly barked. "Jesus, what do you think is telling you to come there? Aliens?!"

"Would be nice," Oikawa agreed, tapping his finger thoughtfully against his lips with a faint chuckle. "But they wouldn't be hiding in the same city as me. They'd hide somewhere else -- although, hiding in plain sight would be brilliant. Iwa-chan, you're not an alien are you? Wouldn't that be funny --"

"God, what sort of crap have you been reading?" Iwaizumi blurted as he grabbed his coffee and stood up, taking a rather hefty gulp of the drink before making his way into the kitchen to seek out something cold to drink along with it. "We've been over this -- before and after your memories were lost -- I'm not an alien, and you've got an obsession."

"Well, think about it -- aliens might have given us Synthetic technology!"

"For the last time! I'm tired of giving you history lessons! Aliens did not give us Synthetic technology! It's from over a hundred years of cognitive scientific research and that's --"

And so, for the second time since Oikawa's memories had begun to restore, Iwaizumi had to educate Oikawa on the history of Synthetic science.

 

The concept of Sector 1-MG stuck around in Oikawa's head for the remainder of the morning as Iwaizumi collected his things and left. He didn't need to leave for work for a couple more hours so he was left to bide his time alone at the apartment until he had to catch his train. It occurred to him that he could always go online and do a bit of research on Sector 1-MG to learn a thing or two about it, and why it was shut down. He had never been much for research and educating himself for fun. Yet his subconscious clearly wanted him to know more about the place, and he had the time.

Relaxing on the couch, still clad in his pajamas, Oikawa sat cross legged with his cup of tea in his hands, careful not to spill any on the already worn-down upholstery. He could have opted to use the computer in the bedroom, but it was easier pull open a browser himself and view it privately in the comfort of his own head. Oikawa ignored the headline -- something about threatening letters being sent to major programming facilities, not that exciting -- and opened a search tab to enter in Sector 1-MG.

As he would discover, Sector 1-MG had been one of the most influential districts of the city during the past fifty years. Sometime when his parents had been teens, the district's primary source of income, a laboratory that employed nearly one third of the city, had closed its doors. In doing so, it began a string of unemployment that the urban population was still recovering from. The lab in question had employed both organic and Synthetics alike, particularly former veterans that had been out of work. When it shut down, it resulted in many veterans losing their homes as well. Currently, Sector 1-MG was home to many of the city's homeless population who had made the slums something of a refuge. At least, that’s what Oikawa had found in his scouring of the internet.

Sipping his tea rather thoughtfully, Oikawa continued his study. Until only about a decade earlier, the district still had a thousand or so occupants and still had one remaining school that included students from grade school through high school. Many of the children were the offspring of the homeless population, while others were orphaned Synthetics that hadn't been picked up by the foster system yet. Most of the children were displaced and in desperate need of homes and so they were quickly taken in by families. Other than children, the remaining population seemed to be down-on-their luck business people trying to live somewhere as squatters until they could get on with their lives. According to the articles, the sector was still inhabited, but none of its residents were officially documented.

And then, on the page about the history of Sector 1-MG, a word stood out. The name of the laboratory: Shiratorizawa.

Like a gun, the recollection of his dreams came flooding back, and he frantically opened other pages in search of some more clarity. Shiratorizawa was a common term in most homes. Oikawa knew it was because those were the labs responsible for the creation of the first Synthetics, only to go bankrupt after the infamous Ushiwaka-chan announced that he had been corrupted. But he'd never expected those labs to actually be so accessible. A continued search, with his tea ignored on the end table, revealed that Sector 1-MG was about a forty-five minute train ride from where he and Iwaizumi lived. Furthermore, Shiratorizawa was indeed the lab that upon shutdown resulted in the sectors poverty.

Oikawa closed the browser and sunk into the couch, fumbling for the cup again. He brought to his lips for a shaky sip -- it had cooled down quite a bit, but it wasn't necessarily an unwelcome temperature.

So, it was that easy.

"I wonder who..." he murmured aloud to no one as he gazed at the ceiling, off into nothingness. "Who wants me to visit _that_ badly?" He blinked a few times, eyelids growing heavy as he realized that the most recent dream had exhausted him. He was craving just a little more rest before he went about his day. Stretching his arms out and laying on his side on the (for once) comfortable couch, Oikawa decided a nap was in order.

Sleep came quickly to Oikawa, after all he had been exhausted from the amount of stress put on him during his subconscious state as of late. The strange message room with replaying conversations from his life had started to become an anxious environment. When he made sense of the place he was in, Oikawa would often blink weakly before holding himself to try and stave off the shudders of panic that coursed through him like an unexpected chill.

 

" _Not again, not again,_ " Oikawa found himself chanting as he tried to close his eyes from the room.

" _Hello._ " A voice responded instead, a window appearing to him with warm, rosy font visible to the Synthetic as he sat upon the floor, knees awkwardly brought to his chest.

Oikawa shifted back as the window approached him, one hand pressed firmly to the floor for leverage as he used the other to try and shove the message away. " _You're talking to me this time,_ " he said quickly, almost confrontational with a furrow of brows and protruding bottom lip. " _Took you long enough. What do you want?_ "

" _I wanted to ask you again. I suspect a voice might sound more encouraging to you. Will you come to Shiratorizawa? I want to meet you._ "

" _And why would I? It's abandoned and in a slum, isn't it? It's dangerous. Iwa-chan doesn't want me to anyways!_ " Oikawa's tone was practically acidic, intending to wound with the way he spoke to the unseen person. " _You'll have to give me some sort of incentive, and even then I can't guarantee I'll do it!_ "

" _You're very proud, aren't you?" the voice added, curious. "I could give you incentive if that's what you wish?_ "

" _Oh yeah? And how so? You're probably not even real. Just my mind playing tricks on me._ "

" _Perhaps that's true. But I know something you want, and I could give it to you. Or at least. . .I could give you a taste of it. I'm a bargaining sort, and I'm willing to make a deal with you. Oikawa Tooru._ "

" _So you know my name,_ " Oikawa grumbled, folding his arms over his chest, as well as his legs together. " _Am I supposed to be concerned?_ "

" _No. You're something of a celebrity. Everyone knows your name. But, please. Hear my request. If I can give you a sample of what you're seeking, will you meet me?_ "

" _And what am I seeking?_ " Oikawa dared, watching as the text continued to appear on the translucent window.

" _Your past with Iwaizumi Hajime._ "

 

Oikawa jerked upright, scrambling to check the clock, only to see he only had about forty-five minutes to catch his train and rush to work. Not nearly enough time for his liking, and he'd have to forego a second shower to wash away the griminess of sleep. But it was enough time to at least get to work. He scrawled a note to Iwaizumi, apologizing for not getting food ready for him when he returned a couple hours later, and rushed out the door.

He knew he'd had another one of his dreams, but he couldn't quite place the details. He'd often been able to recall that he had had one of those dreams but never anything more. Although, this time he was able to tell that there was something different about this one. Something new. Something that offered...an opportunity.

Something that would give him reason to rush out of work again only a few hours after arriving.

* * *

 

Oikawa didn't give much of a reason why he was taking off so early. But it was evident to his co-workers that something important regarding his memories had struck him, and it was only to be expected that he make his way for home. With only a moment to remove his apron and grab his belongings, Oikawa broke into a run as he made his way through the crowded streets to the train to take back to his apartment.

He knew this street. It was where he and Iwaizumi had gone on their third date. There was a restaurant that had gone out of business that only served food parodying famous athletes. Iwaizumi had an allergy to one of the ingredients and the meal was free. Oikawa hadn't realized that he was panting as he nearly stumbled over the stairs to the station. He didn't know why he'd been rushing so much -- Iwaizumi had always said there was no point of rushing to the train when you can't even see it at the station.

Leaning against a pillar, Oikawa clutched at his shirt, feeling his heart rate speeding up, as if he'd just experienced the first time Iwaizumi's hand had felt particularly tender against his skin. His eyes squeezed shut and he had to purse his lips tightly to avoid letting out a sob. He choked on a breath as he slumped against the metal column, feeling the warmth of faux-tears rolling over his face. Though his lips were thinned, they curled into a smile before he pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, coughing against it as a nearly disbelieving laugh tore free. Crying with warm sparks of tears trickling, Oikawa sent a message to Iwaizumi, just stating " _I have wonderful news. Please be home waiting for me._ " without any indication of humor.

The train arrived and Oikawa slipped inside, sitting down near the door so he would have less to travel once it stopped at his station. His fingers continued to flex around the fabric of his shirt, paying attention to the fluttering of his heart as he processed everything he was feeling. It was love, so much love -- so much pure adoration and compassion for Iwaizumi Hajime striking him all at once. He received stares from those around him, quirked brows and curious looks aside but all he could do was smile and wave as he continued to cry Synthetic tears. Stare all they wished, Oikawa knew there was nothing wrong with how he was feeling.

_"Iwa-chan, people are staring. . .I don't like it." Oikawa whispered into Iwaizumi's ear as their hands held tighter as the train jerked from the station and began its journey toward the transfer center where they would hop on another train to spend the day at the beach. "They're whispering a lot."_

_"Ignore them," Iwaizumi said gruffly as he opted to sacrifice his grasp on the loop overhead to slip his arm around Oikawa's waist to hold him closer. "People don't like seeing love because it reminds them of something they can't have or something they lost. Don't worry about it. If anything, feel bad for them."_

_"Hajime, they...they look so angry."_

_"What?" Iwaizumi asked, a brow raised, lips formed into something of a concerned scowl. "Who cares? You're happy, aren't you? Be happy since they won't be. You've got a reason to be happy, don't you? You've always been talking about how being with me makes you happy -- so be happy since they're not. Maybe they'll change their minds."_

Oikawa smiled, relaxed in his seat as he found he'd made eye contact with a particularly unhappy looking woman and her husband next to her. They'd been whispering and pointing somewhat at the Synthetic, silently commenting on him. And so, as the train pulled to a stop at Oikawa's station, he stood in a way that nearly had him bouncing.

"I'd like to let you know," he said as he glanced back into the train. "That I am incredibly happy. I am in love, and I am happy -- you ought to try it sometime."

And with that spring in his step, Oikawa was off once again.

A message came back to Oikawa reading " _I'm already home. What's going on?_ "

But there was no need to reply as Oikawa had already fished out his keys and was already on his way up the stairs to the apartment. The door flung open with a force Oikawa was not sure he was capable of, and Iwaizumi was standing near the hallway, mouth opened in a means of confronting Oikawa, suspecting him of egging him on. But before the words could escape from his mouth, Oikawa flung himself forward, his hands pressed firmly on Iwaizumi's cheeks.

"I remember you. I remember all of you," Oikawa said sweetly, his words thick with affection as he moved in for a kiss. "I remember how you. . .I --" Azure eyes grew wide and glassy, his gaze darting about the room, searching for clarity. His hands pulled free, pressing his palms to his mouth, stepping away, his eyes casting downward while shaky breaths slipped between his fingers.

It was Iwaizumi’s sign to step in; Oikawa needed him.

"I-I swore. . ." Oikawa choked. "I swore. I just remembered everything about you. Everything I passed had a memory of you. And. . .I don't know what happened, Hajime. I just remembered! I remembered everything and there was. . .there was so much love, _Hajime_. I felt all the love I have for you at once I --"

"Hey, hey. . ." Iwaizumi stepped back toward Oikawa whose words had become something of a slurred together string of syllables. "Hey, no, stop that."

"I'm so sorry." Oikawa choked, his fingers curled against his face, head shaking against his palms, causing his auburn cowlicks to lose their volume with each shift. "I swore I remembered everything -- please, please Hajime don't be mad at me."

"Tooru." His voice was firm, as were the hands that clutched Oikawa's shoulders. He'd suspected there might be something like this. Akaashi had told him there could be a flux at some point, and so all Iwaizumi could do was reassure him. "I'm not mad, now pull your hands away. I can't very well kiss you if you're blocking my path."

"No," Oikawa whined into his hands. "I lied to you. I told you I remembered all of you but I didn't, and you're going to be mad with me."

"Why would I be mad, Tooru?" Iwaizumi asked, addressing him with his given name. "Why would I be mad for something you can't control?"

"Because I lied." His tone was sweet, honest and absolutely genuine. “Iwaizumi, I...I remembered you, and it was so intense. . .I can’t imagine not having that, and I --” His words trailed off as he hesitantly pressed their lips together in a cautious kiss. “I’m ready, Hajime.” He breathed softly, resting his weight against his organic lover, searching for Iwaizumi’s hands with his own. Oikawa’s gaze was cast downward as he pressed his cheek to Iwaizumi’s, kissing close to his ear.

“I’m ready, Hajime. For _all_ of you.”


	12. #db8e9e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY NOT TOO LATE. BUT UH. HEY GUESS WHAT.  
> IT'S TIME FOR SMUT.  
> If you don't read smut just read the first paragraph or so then skip to the last line, I'll understand :D
> 
> But really, smut is such a complicated thing for me to write and this is pretty much 8,000 straight words of fucking so I'm pretty damn pleased with myself. I'd like to just say that this entire chapter is going to shed light on to their dynamic as a couple. Their sex isn't supposed to be smutty or dirty or kinky, or even romantic. It's supposed to be fun for them. So, keep an eye out for that. Writing smut is not my forte. I can write snippets of it without difficulty, but this chapter was promised/planned for a while. God knows these two need to let off some steam.
> 
> Just as forewarning, this only had a partial beta edit because my darling Raernix is away for the next week without internet service. We will be touching it up once they return. But we cleared up most of the glaring edits.
> 
> Furthermore, I am going to be hiatused from a new chapter until early November. I am going to AUSA in Washington, D.C. on Halloween weekend and I am trying to finish up some cosplays while working two jobs before then. **If you are going to AUSA and want to meet, leave me a comment! We can arrange something! :D**

Iwaizumi stood there in momentary stunned silence as he felt Oikawa's weight upon him and the gentle thrumming of the artificial but still loving heart within his chest. His arms wrapped supportively around his lover, palms running down from between his shoulder blades to rest at the small of his back, bunching up the fabric of his dress shirt as they went. The flesh upon Iwaizumi's neck prickled, raising with goosebumps in response to the warmth of Oikawa's breath catching against his ear. Swallowing thickly, Iwaizumi found himself closing a fist around some of the loose cotton, eagerly wishing to rip it away.  He couldn't shake the sticky feeling in his throat as he attempted to steal a glance at Oikawa's face that had become obstructed by his shoulder.

"Ready..." he began, his voice deeper than he'd anticipated it to be. "For all of me? God, Tooru, I thought you'd sworn chastity until you could remember." A laugh erupted from Iwaizumi, his chest shuddering against Oikawa who had only replied with a shake of his head and his lips pressing against the others earlobe. Synthetics were so warm, it was hard to imagine that they could be artificial. But with the way Oikawa felt against Iwaizumi's chest, it was as if he'd never been transferred. He hadn't felt Oikawa's body as organic in his entire life but he imagined that the warmth that radiated from his lover was more natural than that of an organic body. Oikawa was natural to him and though he remained poised against him in a half lean, half embrace, Iwaizumi concluded it was perfect.

"Don't play dumb, Hajime." Oikawa whispered, his lips forming into puckers as he kissed around Iwaizumi's ear and along his jawline. "You know exactly what I meant. I didn't want to do anything until I was ready. . ." Prying his head free from the crook of Iwaizumi's neck Oikawa drew back, his lips curled into a nearly deviant, but playful little smile that the ethicist could easily determine as a sign that Oikawa wasn't teasing him. Another swallow left Iwaizumi with his lips parted dumbly, trying to search for an intelligent response that would put Oikawa in his place and keep him from being too risque. Oikawa's hand raised from his side and drew itself down along Iwaizumi's cheek, elongating a finger to run beneath his chin to lure him forward. "Iwa-chan," Oikawa purred. "I wouldn't say this if I didn't mean it." The side of his lips quirked a little further and he used the finger that drew Iwaizumi in closer to tap the tip of his nose.

Standing there almost dumbfounded, Iwaizumi watched as Oikawa casually maneuvered around him, his hips swaying in an almost devilish saunter. He was showing off the way his waist angled into his hips and curved into his thighs, making a point of exaggerating each motion to catch Iwaizumi's eyes. "H-Hey!" Iwaizumi barked, body twisting around to turn to face the back of Oikawa as he pressed his hand against the doorway to the bedroom, slyly gazing at Iwaizumi with heavily lidded eyes. "Don't just touch me like that and speak like that and just walk away! What sort of game are you playing!"

"A dirty one, if you'll be player two." Oikawa pressed his weight into the doorframe, his chin edging around the side as lips curled into a temporary frown before a chuckle echoed from the Synthetic as his circuits lit up while he vanished into the bedroom.

Iwaizumi brought his hand to his face to cover his shame, knowing that Oikawa had definitely succeeded with the hand he'd just played. Iwaizumi'd been dealt a pretty bad hand in regards to the current scenario, but it was a round he wasn't necessarily disappointed to lose. He'd been waiting for the day Oikawa would be willing to climb on to his lap again, and now that it came, Iwaizumi was torn between being relieved and irritated. He'd hoped that Oikawa might react a bit different. He'd hoped, perhaps, Oikawa would be shy and coy -- and he could treat him as if he were bringing a virgin to bed again. But instead he was greeted with Oikawa in all his sex kitten glory. The Synthetic knew that he could touch Iwaizumi in certain ways and adjust his speech just enough to get his blood stirring and his pants shortening.

A groan came from Iwaizumi as he began to unbutton the first notch at the top of his shirt to tug it free. He knew how Oikawa could be once his claws came out and it often involved Iwaizumi needing to get his shirts tailored with new buttons. He was in no mood to have to dip into their savings for such a trivial expense and he wasn't going to let Oikawa be the source of the clothing casualty. He could feel the heat boiling beneath his face and though he found himself trying to stave off the need to throw Oikawa down on the bed and ravage him, he was more focused on trying to quell the sputtering of his jaw from the anxious vibes that had taken over.

Was he anxious? Or was he excited? He couldn't quite tell but whatever it was he knew that he was more than happy to take Oikawa into his arms again. It was hard to determine just how he wanted to take Oikawa. Did he want to be loving? Kinky? Rough? Passionate? There were so many ways that he could love Oikawa when it came to getting in bed with him, but it was always a matter of how Oikawa's body responded to him. Would he crane his neck to the side, begging to feel Iwaizumi's teeth grind against his throat? Or would he comb fingers through the thick, ebony wisps of Iwaizumi's hair and gaze at him as if he were the only thing in the universe? It was hard to tell with Oikawa Tooru.

So Iwaizumi slipped into the bedroom where Oikawa -- instead of having stripped -- was in the process of making the bed. It seemed quite useless to Iwaizumi as he knew that the bed was just going to become sloppy and the sheets ripped free from their elastic grasp around the corners of the mattress. "What the hell are you doing?" He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, exasperated but letting a laugh slip even with his attempt at an irritated tone.

"I thought it might be nice," Oikawa said as he approached Iwaizumi after fluffing up one of the pillows and returning it to the bed in the center with the other ones -- where no doubt Oikawa would be laying in a few minutes. "To spend the day like this, if that's alright with you." He laughed softly, the turquoise of his circuits glowing in his cheeks, replicating a blush as it frequently did. "Kind of like, when we did this when we were still in high school during holidays. Remember?"

"Yeah," Iwaizumi said with a warm smile as he lifted Oikawa's hand to lips to kiss the back tenderly. "I'm glad you do. I'm glad you're remembering us." Oikawa snorted a bit, a slight hissing noise slipping free as if he were bashful at the comment.

"Don't be sappy, Hajime." Oikawa sputtered. "I'm feeling the need to have you bite my ass, not kiss it. Though I'm not opposed to both if that's what you were feeling."

"Shut up, Kusoikawa, or I won't do any of this." Iwaizumi murmured against his hand, his free arm hooking around Oikawa's waist to tug him closer, his palm grasping a hold of the Synthetic's ass, applying a squeeze. A yelp slipped free from Oikawa before the sound became closer to a laugh. It took Iwaizumi by surprise as Oikawa nudged the remaining buttons through the holes, rather than popping them off.

"That sounds more like you," he chuckled, his hips rocking against Iwaizumi's in response to the hand giving him the much-welcome squeeze. "I missed that, it tells me that you're listening to me, you know. Tells me that Iwa-chan is actually paying attention to my needs to~"

"Knock it off." Iwaizumi sighed as he mirrored Oikawa's ear-kissing gesture from before. His lips kissed gently upon Oikawa's earlobe, his teeth making an appearance as they nibbled upon the tender flesh, stirring a noise of approval from the Synthetic that rest against him. "Or I'll ignore you for the rest of the night."

"Not fair," Oikawa whispered as Iwaizumi's lips upon his ear moved to his neck where his teeth grazed upon the lines of his throat in gentle scrapes, aiming only to leave barely visible welts. He wasn't aiming to get Oikawa too excited too quickly, he simply wanted him to feel the sensation of being touched by another person.

He was almost disappointed that he'd gone to Akaashi to relieve some of the tension that had built up. But it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected it to be. He'd been craving Oikawa again for the past couple weeks, and after having the kind of relationship where sex had become a daily activity, going several weeks was driving Iwaizumi crazy. No matter how often he catered to his own needs in the shower or on some nights while Oikawa slept next to him, silent as to not wake him -- it wasn't enough. He craved to feel the weight of another body moving with his in a canopy of strewn blankets tangled and knotted around them.

He could already feel himself getting aroused and far too quickly for his liking. Oikawa had only just begun to unbutton his shirt, revealing the white undershirt beneath it. With his lips forming against the curves of Oikawa's neck, Iwaizumi's shoulders rolled back allowing for him to let his shirt fall down over his arms. Tugging the sleeves free and yanking the edges of his shirt from his belt, Iwaizumi fumbled with the buckle discovering Oikawa's hand was already aiding him. Words were already becoming unnecessary as Iwaizumi breathed heavily into the kisses he trailed over Oikawa's neck as the both of them worked on slipping the thick, black leather of Iwaizumi's belt through the metallic buckle.

Oikawa's gasp was the indication Iwaizumi needed to hear to tell him that he was moving at an acceptable pace. With the belt freed from its loop, his hand found the curve of Oikawa's ass again, applying another squeeze in response to Oikawa's arm wrapping up, around his shoulder as he craned back with his leg as he stepped backwards as if preparing to lead them to the bed. "H-hajime..." his voice was soft, lacking the excitable chime that it normally had interwoven with his words. Iwaizumi took the hint, dragging his tongue in a slow stroke upwards along where Oikawa's jugular was supposed to be, returning to his ear again. His kisses became fierce, toothy and the sort to stir up adrenaline. With a slight nip, Iwaizumi's kiss included the added pressure of a bite as he sucked upon the throbbing faux-vein of Oikawa's neck. A grunt escaped from him as Oikawa's hand over his shoulder found Iwaizumi's skull, pushing against him roughly to deepen the organic man's grasp on his neck.

Iwaizumi became nearly smothered against Oikawa's neck, but he couldn't complain. He inhaled, burying his nose in the scent of coffee that still lingered in Oikawa's pores from the day at the cafe. "God," he mouthed against his flesh. "Tooru, I'll never get tired of you. . ." he whispered heavily. He didn't know if Oikawa could hear what he'd said but he didn't seem to be bothered by that. Iwaizumi rocked his hips against Oikawa's in response to another press upon his head, urging him for another harsh biting kiss upon his neck. The Synthetic had said something, perhaps in response but Iwaizumi would be damned if he could figure out what Oikawa had said -- it sounded positive in the way he gasped. He didn't need words, and Oikawa didn't either. At least as far as he was concerned.

"Hajime," Oikawa gasped, his fingers nearly knotting into Iwaizumi's hair as he pried him free. "Please," Pulling free, Iwaizumi looked ahead at Oikawa, noticing how he'd become flushed -- actual shades of red, a common trait for aroused Synthetics, regardless of circuit color -- from the assault upon his neck alone. "Please can we. . .?" His voice had slipped into something closer to a beg than the common whine that Iwaizumi had become accustomed to. He'd begun to fuss with the few buttons on his shirt from work, which Iwaizumi quickly made work of, accidentally popping one as he was so apt to prevent on his own shirt. (He'd have to sew it instead, he wasn't going to pay a tailor to fix a single button).

"Soon," Iwaizumi whispered as he started to undress Oikawa whose hands had started roaming over Iwaizumi's chest. Deft fingers caused the fabric of Iwaizumi's undershirt to bunch up, allowing Oikawa the chance to clutch the hem of the garment and guide it over Iwaizumi's torso. He raised his arms to aid Oikawa in the removal and with the shirt free, he was left standing there, already more exposed than Oikawa who was still prying the sleeves from his forearms. His hands continued their exploration, resting upon Iwaizumi's hips momentarily, hooking beneath the leather to give him a tug closer.

"Soon?" Oikawa asked as Iwaizumi momentarily lost his footing, falling forward to press his chest into his lovers. "How about now, Hajime?" A smirk hung on Iwaizumi's lips as he looked at Oikawa with a laugh creeping free, noticing the bright pink flesh at Oikawa's throat. So it was going to be one of these rolls in the hay. Oikawa wanted to tease, but he wanted it right then and there -- it was going to be a game, as he had suggested. And Iwaizumi was a very willing player. When Oikawa compared sex to a game, he often pegged it as a challenge, but Iwaizumi would often decide that he couldn't be a challenger when the both of them often ended up the winner together.

"Hm," Iwaizumi grunted as he stepped Oikawa backwards until his calves hit the foot of the bed. "That sounds good, but," His leg slipped between both of Oikawa's finding his thigh pressing against Oikawa's groin -- he was already hard, but this was no real surprise to Iwaizumi. He knew how easy it was to get Oikawa aroused, and today was no different. Oikawa got stuck on a breath as Iwaizumi closed the last of the space between them, capturing his lips in a feverish kiss, mostly focused on Oikawa's lower lip rather than his mouth. It was meant to distract as Iwaizumi gave something of a shove to Oikawa, forcing him into sitting on the bed's edge instead. "I think, now. . ." Iwaizumi said, just faintly breathless as he gazed down at Oikawa. "Now is much better."

He loomed over Oikawa, but in a protective manner as he leaned down, guiding Oikawa into laying back on the bed. Iwaizumi rest a knee upon the mattress, hoisting himself over Oikawa, his hand pressing firmly -- but not painfully so -- upon Oikawa's chest, fingers dragging over the curves of taut flesh. Oikawa opened his mouth, words clearly eager to escape but Iwaizumi silenced him, gazing down at him with his brows firm and eyes studious as he examined Oikawa's body squirming back to rest upon the bed more comfortably. Hoisting himself up on to the bed, Iwaizumi straddled Oikawa, smiling down at him.

"Now is good," Oikawa sighed, his eyes becoming heavily lidded as he stared up at Iwaizumi with the edge of his lip tugging momentarily in a smirk. With arms outstretched, Oikawa linked his fingers around the belt loops of Iwaizumi's trousers, tugging him closer. The organic positioned himself over Oikawa again, his hips rolling to brush against his lovers momentarily, as he held himself up with one hand on the mattress, using the other to comb through Oikawa's already bedstrewn hair. His lips connected with Oikawa's neck again, drawing his teeth toward his ear in a less than delicate fashion, aiming to scrape away skin while hips gave another rock upon the Synthetic.

"How do you want me?" He growled lovingly in Oikawa's ear as his hand upon the mattress enclosed along Oikawa's waist, stroking down to his hips to push the band of his pants down. His fingers ghosted along the lines of Oikawa's lower abdomen, eliciting a nearly surprised gasp from the male lying flat upon the bed. His arms raised, loosely slipping around Iwaizumi's neck to tug him in closer to his ear, needy for the organic's heavy breath against him.

“Surprise me,” Oikawa teased, leaning up with a devilish grin woven on to his face. Iwaizumi felt Oikawa's hips raise, pressing their groins together, drawing out a groan from Iwaizumi. His fingers in Oikawa's hair clenched tightly at the roots, his head pulling away to muffle a moan of approval in the comforter. A soft laugh came from Oikawa as he gave another jerk of his hips to try and bring out another sound from Iwaizumi. Falling victim to the sudden assault from the Synthetic, Iwaizumi lifted his head revealing a face flushed and warm from blood circulating wildly through him. Oikawa smiled slyly at him, bringing his hands to the back of Iwaizumi's skull, twirling his fingers through his hair. Iwaizumi's lips curled into a slight purse, pouting at Oikawa's obvious teasing. Regardless of whether it had been teasing or not, the very idea that Oikawa was so eager to react to him made Iwaizumi's heart flutter happily. The pout faded turning into a smile as Oikawa brought him in closer, lips connecting warmly.

Oikawa felt so alive as his lips moved eagerly against Iwaizumi's, reminding him of the very real notion that although Synthetic, and although his memories were not interact, he still loved and adored Iwaizumi. Without much need for hesitation, Iwaizumi's parted, planning on guiding out Oikawa's tongue with his own. But before he could even let his tongue dart past his lips, Oikawa had already taken the initiative. His hands upon the back of Iwaizumi's head guided toward his cheeks, his tongue pushing past Iwaizumi's lips to trace the outline of the lower one and make his way into the others mouth.

His Synthetic lovers mouth was so warm and lively, his breath damp as he exhaled into Iwaizumi's in labored, eager puffs. They distracted Iwaizumi just enough for Oikawa to make another roll of his hips and luring a throaty groan from him. Whether it was an intentional jerk of his hips or not, the lump that Iwaizumi felt rubbing against him was enough to make him free a hand from Oikawa's body to begin tugging off his pants, letting them fall loose at his hips.

A momentary break in the kiss gave Iwaizumi the chance to hear Oikawa's request to lift his weight off him just a bit. The kiss was a reprieve, an intermission where both parties could catch their breath and stretch their legs. Iwaizumi sat upright and shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he shook off his pants. Oikawa’s hips rose between Iwaizumi’s legs, dusting against the inner thighs, and without breaking eye contact Oikawa opted to arch his back for Iwaizumi as well. Iwaizumi's chest heaved, inhaling and exhaling, eagerly licking his lips. Oikawa's fingers curled against the waistband of his pants, previously tugged down somewhat by Iwaizumi and wriggled his way out of them with a few more additional thrusts.

Iwaizumi rarely let Oikawa take control when they were in bed together, but when he did he often found himself fond of riding upon Oikawa instead. It had become evident that Oikawa had remembered this about Iwaizumi and was using the tactic against him. When Oikawa's eyes closed, and he drew his hand down along his chest; Iwaizumi knew that his lover was trying to get him going. As Oikawa's fingers traced down the center of his abdomen, the circuits in his chest lit up brightly to show off that the body was responding more eagerly to something than it normally did.

"A-ah...Iwa-chan...!" Oikawa teased as he turned the removal of his pants into a partial striptease, his hands lingering at the closures before palming himself. "Mm, Iwa-chan I need you." He whimpered almost theatrically as he freed the pants from his legs, letting them bunch up around his knees. He kicked his legs somewhat trying to remove them fruitlessly until Iwaizumi assisted in tugging them off his calves.

Of course, with the way Oikawa had been performing for Iwaizumi, he couldn't help himself but stare at Oikawa's legs. Synthetics all had their own unique traits to their circuitry, and one of Oikawa's was that they shown in intricate, geometric lines and patterns all along his thighs. In a way they reminded Iwaizumi of a road map, leading him to new routes in exploring the Synthetic he had come to love. They circuits lit up in spontaneous, random patterns that often changed from day to day, so each day he would find his fingers tracing upon new highways of his lover's body.

Oikawa remained stationary beneath Iwaizumi on the bed. Iwaizumi pressed a finger to Oikawa's lips, requesting silently that he be quiet. He needed to take a moment to study his lover, watching the way his chest and thighs were alight with circuitry, beckoning  Iwaizumi to reach out and touch every inch of him. Iwaizumi gazed down at Oikawa who continued to lay comfortably in the center of the bed, his plaid print boxer shorts clinging crookedly to his hips. He could nearly swear that he could see Oikawa's heart beating beneath the steel skeleton and artificial flesh of his chest. He became momentarily entranced by the steady rhythm of his breathing, and it struck Iwaizumi.

There was absolutely nothing stopping them from being happy.

His hands pressed along Oikawa's hips, causing the Synthetic to jerk slightly, surprised at his lovers comparatively rough gesture compared to the others prior. With fingers spread out, Iwaizumi began to trace along the glowing lines of circuitry upon Oikawa's thighs, searching as to where they might lead him.A gasp echoed from Oikawa's throat, questioning as Iwaizumi's fingers brushed against the various lines that flickered on his legs, guiding him toward the inner thighs. It became a nearly meticulous task as Iwaizumi's eyes alternated between Oikawa's face and his legs. It was once he reached between the Synthetic's legs that he truly reacted -- overly sensitive to the contact Iwaizumi offered him. Right, that's what this was all about. Oikawa wanted to feel good, and Iwaizumi was more than happy to be the one to give that to him.

His position on the bed shifted and Iwaizumi lowered himself, laying out on his stomach between Oikawa's legs. "Slide back." He asked, patting Oikawa at the hip. As he complied, Iwaizumi resumed his delicate, artist-like touches on Oikawa's thighs, but this time through his lips. Feather-like in nature, Iwaizumi kissed lightly along the glowing lines of circuits, patting Oikawa's thigh as he squirmed in response.

"H-hajime," Oikawa gasped, his eyes cracking open, curious as to what Iwaizumi had preoccupied himself with. "Keep doing that. I like that..." Oikawa's voice was hoarse, not from making noise, but from the dryness of his throat that Iwaizumi had yet to quench for him.

"I know," Iwaizumi replied, his voice soft and nearly muffled against Oikawa's skin. He inhaled deeply, noting how the scent of his soap was lingering on Oikawa. He knew better than to use his soap, didn't he? Maybe not, he couldn't be sure just how much Oikawa remembered about some of his more obscure quirks. Either way, the scent suited him, and Iwaizumi felt at ease being in bed with Oikawa like this. As he exhaled against Oikawa's thigh, he brought the unoccupied hand to the rounded bulge within Oikawa's boxers shorts, providing a much needed squeeze to the arousal. To neither of their surprise, Oikawa's hips jerked into Iwaizumi's hand, paired with a vintage whine.

Oikawa lowered a hand down toward Iwaizumi, his fingers brushing through his hair with the slightest applications of pressure in an attempt to guide Iwaizumi's mouth to where his other hand had been placed. Iwaizumi glanced up to Oikawa, watching as the Synthetic smiled,a little too hazy in his arousal to truly tease him. Returning to the task at hand, Iwaizumi took the hint and dragged his tongue to where Oikawa's hip met his leg, licking momentarily before he shifted his position between his lover’s limbs.

"If I'm going too fast --"

"If anything you're going too slow, Hajime." Oikawa teased, patting Iwaizumi on the cheek. "But that's okay. It's been a while. I want to savor it too." Looking up at Oikawa, Iwaizumi felt his heart clench and then float away with the engagement ring of helium. He smiled, pressing his mouth upon the raised fabric, mouthing at it softly with his eyes closing.

"If you say so." He murmured against his fiance's groin, humor clear in his voice. He tugged at the elastic of Oikawa's boxers, starting to slide them free from his body. "Savor is one word, but why would I savor someone I get to taste all the time?"

He inhaled deeply, bringing Oikawa's length out from within his underwear. It wasn't anything unfamiliar to him, and the way his hand wrapped around the shaft gave Iwaizumi a surge of relief. Things would be alright, and Oikawa was still his fiance, and he could still cause the Synthetic to become overwhelmed with pleasure from the simplest of touches and heaviest of breaths. Iwaizumi shifted, guiding the head of Oikawa's cock into his mouth, his lips curving around the flushed head. His cheeks suctioned inwards as he sucked affectionately as an introductory bit of teasing. Oikawa's body jerked beneath his mouth, taken aback by Iwaizumi's eagerness. His hand patted upon Oikawa's hips in a nonverbal attempt at telling him to settle down.

Iwaizumi's eyes closed, the tip of his tongue tracing the underside of the head, reaching the sensitive crevices that he knew Oikawa was fond of having touched and tormented. With another slight jerk of his hips, Iwaizumi dug his nails lightly into Oikawa's thigh, scolding him.

Synthetic skin didn't give off the same sort of taste that organic humans did. While human flesh was prone to have almost a salty taste, due to sweat creeping from pores, Synthetics had something that it was similar to sweetness, but not quite. Oikawa was no different, but Iwaizumi often found himself comparing the taste of his fiance to one of those fancy lattes someone might purchase in a cafe. They weren't sweet, but they weren't bitter either. It was practically earthy and natural in taste. And perhaps that's why Iwaizumi enjoyed it so much. A Synthetic tasted like something that was quite their opposite.

Iwaizumi, after a few more languish drags of his tongues over the head of Oikawa's cock, and a fair bit of tormenting to the slit at the top, decided it was time to drag this out a little further. His hand around Oikawa's shaft twitched as he jerked him off in calm, meticulous strokes, responding to the shudder of Oikawa's legs. Bringing his head off of Oikawa's cock, with closed eyes, Iwaizumi whispered softly: _"Steady. I'm getting there."_

He breathed softly, the heat encasing around Oikawa's length, dragging out a wriggle from the Synthetic. "Please..." he choked out, his arms twisting about to grasp at the roots of Iwaizumi's hair. Willing to oblige, Iwaizumi's mouth returned to Oikawa, opting to utilize his tongue by dragging it from the base of Oikawa's cock back to the head. Using the saliva he'd left behind in the trail, Iwaizumi used this as a temporary lubricant until he retrieved the bottle from the nightstand. Once Oikawa was begging, Iwaizumi'd have him reach into the drawer to pull out the bottle. And only then would he gladly begin to take things to the next level. He couldn't wait to get Oikawa on his lap again, rocking his hips inside of him --

He was distracted by the idea of what would occur soon, momentarily forgetting that he'd brought a hand down to Oikawa's balls, gently massaging them from side to side. Desperate, mewling cries rippled from Oikawa, giving Iwaizumi the most electric surges of satisfaction to know he was the cause of such pleasant sounds. Pulling his mouth free again, he exhaled another warm breath against his lovers length, his mouth thick with saliva as he'd been preparing to guide Oikawa further into his mouth. He relaxed his jaw, and his throat in turn as he lowered his mouth once again over Oikawa, feeling as the head in his mouth, pressing against the edge of his throat. Iwaizumi choked only momentarily, having gotten used to taking Oikawa each time they were in bed. But as it pressed in his mouth he accepted that this would be as far as he'd allow it before it became unpleasant. Iwaizumi pulled back, removing the length as his lips dragged along Oikawa's shaft.

“ _Please, Iwa-chan --_ ” Oikawa choked out as Iwaizumi went to resume orally pleasing him. Glancing up to study him, he found that Oikawa’d pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, his face flush and eyes heavily lidded, but damp around the corners. “It’s one thing to savor, but don’t over-indulge.” He’d begun to plead, and Iwaizumi knew this act well. Oikawa would get so torn up about having Iwaizumi inside of him that he’d momentarily forget that he was enjoying himself. His hand closed around his shaft, to stroke him idly while he heard him out, he shifted his weight so he could kneel between Oikawa’s legs.

“Now that’s not fair.” He purred as he hoisted himself up so he could look down at his lover. “I’ve done all this work so far and you’ve hardly put a hand on me.” He released his hand from  cock, drawing a whimper of protest from the Synthetic as Iwaizumi reached toward their nightstand, retrieving a bottle of warming lubricant from within, and shoved it into Oikawa’s hands. “If you want more so badly, convince me. Memories or not, I know you know how to jerk a man off.”

Returning to his seated position, Iwaizumi hoisted himself to his kneesas he peeled away the opaque, black boxer briefs that hung upon his hips. As they rolled down, he adjusted his cock, stroking it a few times as an invitation to Oikawa to get to work. The Synthetic stared up at Iwaizumi’s little display, rather annoyed, yet understanding. Iwaizumi didn’t want to be the only one doing all the work, and he knew Oikawa remembered that aspect about him. As he sat upright, it was clear to Iwaizumi that Oikawa simply didn’t want to get up, enjoying his time as a pillow prince and being pampered, but he knew that once Oikawa got started, he’d enjoy getting into it.

Squeezing a bit of the lubricant into his hand, Oikawa shifted to his knees as he sat in front of Iwaizumi, wasting no time as his hand closed around his shaft. A jolt rushed through Iwaizumi, feeling his entire body grow hot from contact, his hips twitching in response. Hands had been on him recently, but the hands of other people -- Akaashi’s, in particular -- but nothing could quite match the electricity that Iwaizumi felt when Oikawa’s fingers stroked his length. The lubrication had activated, delivering a pleasant warmth to Iwaizumi as Oikawa’s fingers continued to rub it into place. It wasn’t Oikawa’s best handjob to date, and it was evident in the way Oikawa kept glancing up at Iwaizumi, looking faintly displeased. He wanted to be stimulated, and although Iwaizumi was more than happy to give him what he wanted, he very well couldn’t give him anything just yet.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi commented as Oikawa’s wrists slowed a moment. He offered a glare to Oikawa that told him to keep his pace. He leaned down, placing his hands on the sides of Oikawa’s cheeks, brushing some of his hair behind his ear. “Don’t give me that face, you know it’s not fair if I do all the work.” The Synthetic opened his mouth in a form of protest, but Iwaizumi responded by slipping his fingers into Oikawa’s mouth, a stern scowl weaving on to his face. “Besides, you know as well as I do, that the second I get you down on this bed again, you won’t remember you were even annoyed with me. Now suck.”

Oikawa did not have to be told twice as his tongue curled around Iwaizumi’s fingers in his mouth, his hand still steadily stroking his lover's length. Iwaizumi remained quiet, save for a few deep breaths he stammered out when Oikawa’s tongue and hand seemed to move in tandem with each other. With his spare hand, he combed through Oikawa’s hair, brushing it aside as the Synthetic cracked opened a glowing, cerulean eye to watch Iwaizumi. His hand withdrew as he brought it to his face, turning away from Oikawa’s line of sight. It was embarrassing to watch Oikawa look at him, and he couldn’t quite place why. He wasn’t even doing anything exceptionally dirty, but yet Iwaizumi could not bring himself to keep eye contact with Oikawa

“Hajime?” Oikawa murmured, his mouth freeing itself from Iwaizumi’s fingers which now glistened with the thick coating of saliva, a thread still connecting them to the Synthetic’s lips. “Is something wrong?”

“Y-yeah,” Iwaizumi uttered, stealing a swift glance at the particularly filthy way Oikawa’s lips shone from sucking his fingers. “You look…you look. . .”

“I look what?” Oikawa asked, the thread now breaking as he pushed himself further up on his knees, his grasp upon Iwaizumi’s cock speeding up somewhat. “Like I want you to bend me over already?” Oikawa chuckled softly, pressing his chest to Iwaizumi’s as he did so, positioned in just such a way that their cocks briefly brushed together. A hiss escaped Iwaizumi -- and he concluded, he probably was ready to get Oikawa’s legs raised around his waist by now. Remaining composed, Iwaizumi flicked Oikawa on the nose, sweeping his arm around his lovers torso to lay him out on the bed again.

With a soft ‘oof’ sound Oikawa was on his back again, and Iwaizumi settled himself down between his legs. He raised a hand to suggest Oikawa raise his hips, which he slid on to his lap carefully. Fingers still slick from his lovers mouth, he ran his hand over Oikawa’s cock again and then down between his legs where he began to prod gently once he found what he was looking for. Gazing upwards, still flushed from making eye contact, he rose a brow at Oikawa, wordlessly asking if he was actually ready. Experimentally, Iwaizumi pushed the first knuckle of his finger into Oikawa, receiving an airy gasp as a response, as his head nodded feverishly.

Oikawa’s hands had already begun to clutch at the sheets around him as Iwaizumi slowly pulled his finger back and pushed it back in, this time a little deeper. His chest rose, inhaling sharply as Iwaizumi used this chance to slide the finger out again, beginning to motion it back and forth before squeezing in a second finger. Oikawa tensed, and Iwaizumi exhaled, resting a hand upon Oikawa’s pelvis, tracing a few brightening circuits before taking a moment to stroke his cock again. “Shh,” he hushed, flexing his fingers within Oikawa, trying to keep the Synthetic steady and relaxed as he loosened him up. Finding it harder than he wanted it to be, he squeezed another dribble of the lubricant on his fingers as they pulled out, finding it much smoother as he slid them into Oikawa again.

He felt himself breathing more heavily than Oikawa was. He felt like a virgin again as he became almost entranced as the way Oikawa’s body moved on the bed. It wasn’t writhing or shuddering, but it was squirming in anticipation -- eagerness to feel Iwaizumi. Eagerness to give himself to Iwaizumi. His fingers flexed again, pulling another gasp free from Oikawa who had squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation for more. He hadn’t said a word, but instead, every sound that ripped free from Oikawa was enough to convince Iwaizumi to remove his fingers, momentarily. “...You ready?” he asked, hesitance in his voice as he allowed their eyes to meet, voice softer than he’d meant to sound.

Iwaizumi inhaled, closing his eyes a moment to steel himself. He could very well fuck Oikawa without a condom -- Synthetics didn’t contract diseases and their bodies didn’t work the same way as an organics. He didn’t need to wear a condom if he didn’t want to. But, they had gone a while without anything, perhaps it was safe.

“Grab a condom,” Iwaizumi grunted as he applied a bit more lubricant to his fingers as an added measure. Oikawa leaned up, a little surprised to hear that Iwaizumi had made the request for a condom. He too knew that Synthetics were capable of sleeping with other people without the need for one, but he wasn’t going to complain. His torso twisted as he reached into the nightstand, plucking one out to flick at Iwaizumi who proceeded to peel away the wrapping and unroll it over his length. With his fingers now out of Oikawa, his position between the Synthetic’s legs shifted around, stretching out so he was hovering over him again.

“Hey, Hajime?” Oikawa uttered as Iwaizumi began to align himself to enter him. With his neck craning upward to watch Oikawa, he licked at his lips. “Would you still love me even if my memories never came back?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi said quietly, feeling his entire being trembling from the anticipation of being inside Oikawa again. “I was prepared to lose you, and I still am. And I’m still prepared to love you, even if you don’t.”

“Good.” Oikawa said, a warm smile pulling on his lips as he reached out to take Iwaizumi’s hand. His fingers pinched at the engagement ring Iwaizumi had given him weeks prior and slipped it off. “I don’t mind wearing this again, then.” With his chest still heaving and his heartbeat visible between the breaths, Oikawa slid the promise ring from his finger, setting it on the nightstand, replacing it with the engagement ring, admiring it fondly. “Yes, Iwaizumi Hajime. I will marry you. Without a doubt in my mind. . .I know this is the right choice.”

Words became unnecessary as Iwaizumi’s aligned position allowed him to thrust into Oikawa as he leaned over him, lips capturing Oikawa’s mouth in a feverish, emotional embrace. Open mouthed and desperate and altogether proof of how much he adored Oikawa, he inhaled his fiances moan, practically tasting the truth of his words. Tongues knotted together in a hasty, eager and practically juvenile kiss before Iwaizumi broke it off, his face flushed to make his and Oikawa a pair. Both of them were poised, breathless and needy, and waiting for the other to move. And so, Iwaizumi brought his hips back, the motion causing Oikawa’s body to tense and mess the sheets up further. And as he brought his hips back, Oikawa raised his hips aching for Iwaizumi to make his way inside again.

So he did, making sure the return motion was just as agonizingly wonderful for Oikawa as the first one. He panted, reaching to clutch one of Oikawa’s hands struggling at the sheets. His fingers closed tightly around Oikawa’s hand, smiling at him as his hips pulled back and in once again, feeling his lovers body tighten around him. Iwaizumi held Oikawa by the waist as an attempt at keeping him still enough for him to find a pleasant rhythm for both of them to enjoy. He hushed Oikawa a few more times as he continued to haphazardly rock his hips inside of him, noting the flickering of each line of circuitry with each motion. His grasp on Oikawa’s hand tightened as Iwaizumi reached out to brush some hair from his forehead, hushing him yet again.

“H-hajime…!” Oikawa choked out, his hand at his mouth to muffle his panting. “Like that--!” Iwaizumi lifted Oikawa’s hand from the bed, kissing the back of it, knowing full well that he’d found the correct pace for the both of them.

And so, Iwaizumi’s hips began to roll back and forth, fluidly but hardly mechanical. Each motion inside of Oikawa led him to raise himself up and press into Iwaizumi who had shifting so he was now holding his weight over Oikawa. The Synthetic’s arms enclosed around Iwaizumi’s torso, his nails scraping as Iwaizumi’s hips became fierce, pausing as he rest inside of him every few thrusts. With Oikawa’s breathing heavy in Iwaizumi’s ear and his own heart pounding in time with the others, Iwaizumi felt the natural, comforting sensation of having Oikawa in his arms returning to him. They would be fine. They would be happy, and with the warm metal of the engagement ring pressed against his back as Oikawa grasped ahold of him, Iwaizumi didn’t need much more proof that that.

“Love you,” he murmured roughly into Oikawa’s ear as he sucked in a breath, burying his face in the Synthetic’s neck as he pulled his hips back again. “Every damn inch of you, Synthetic or not.”

“You’re okay,” Oikawa laughed in Iwaizumi’s ear, whining as Iwaizumi pinched him slightly in response. Of all the things to say while he was inside of him, and he came out with that little gem.

It was then that Iwaizumi realized that maybe...they had spent a little long on the foreplay. He could already feel his gut warming up with the familiar throb that warned him he’d have to pace himself, lest come too soon. He pressed his lips against Oikawa’s neck, jerking his hips stiffly, knowing that there was only just so much he could do at this rate. “You’re gonna hate me,” he choked on his own breath as he tried to slow himself down. “But I’m gonna come soon. . .”

Though Oikawa whined, somewhat _unhappy_ sounding in response, he laughed against Iwaizumi’s ear. “Not like you can’t get some of this whenever you want, Hajime.” he purred as his hands slid down Iwaizumi’s back to squeeze at his bare ass. Iwaizumi nipped at Oikawa’s neck affectionately (and to reassure him that he was correct) and pulled his chest away from his lovers to look down at him. He breathed slowly, closing in while his hips continued to move in stiff, jerking moments knowing that he was near his limit. His lips grazed Oikawa’s, brushing them lightly. He only had so much stamina after a few weeks of near abstinence.

“Shut up, Tooru,” he whispered, while Oikawa’s fingers raised, tangling in his thick, coarse hair, tugging in time with one of Iwaizumi thrusts. Oikawa was right, of course. He could have Iwaizumi whenever he wanted, and just to prove a point, Iwaizumi’s thrusts gained momentum -- quick, speedy motions of his hips that allowed him to tuck his head against Oikawa’s neck again as his entire body tensed. Oikawa whispered lovingly against Iwaizumi, feeling himself tensing as well as he uttered words of encouragement to Iwaizumi. Whimpers escaped him as the both of them stiffened. Iwaizumi fisted up at the sheets, swearing heavily -- strings of ‘shit, fuck, god damn it’ spewing from him as that warmth flushed itself free from his body, collecting in the polyurethane enclosure. His chest heaved again, breaths deep, heavy and noisy against Oikawa’s ear as he slowly pulled himself free from inside his partner.

Oikawa hadn’t come yet, he could tell. He knew how Oikawa’s body reacted when he came -- he was close, but not quite there. He couldn’t just leave Oikawa now. He couldn’t let him just lay there and enjoy getting fucked without the payoff. He felt guilty -- dirty, even -- mostly because he had come so much sooner than he planned, but also because he couldn’t get Oikawa off from that alone. And so, Iwaizumi slithered down Oikawa’s body, head between his legs once more -- taking his cock as deep into his mouth as he possibly could. Perhaps it was the mere fact he was aroused, but it felt as if Iwaizumi had taken him further now than he had at the start. After all, Oikawa bucked his hips when Iwaizumi took him in, and he felt so much fuller than he had at the start.

“F- _fuck_ Hajime…!” Oikawa choked out, his voice raspy from heavy breathing. Oikawa wasn’t much of one to use aggressive swears, and so the usage of such was Iwaizumi’s little reassurance that Oikawa wouldn’t need much. His hand cupped his lovers balls again, as his tongue dragged up to the head of his cock giving a decadent little suck -- and Oikawa was writhing. His hips jerked again thrusting into Iwaizumi’s mouth, but cum never came. It never would. Synthetics didn’t come like an organic. The stimulation and the climax always occurred, but a Synthetic simply couldn’t come the same way (much to teenage Iwaizumi’s disappointment).

He pulled his lips free from Oikawa’s cock, jerking him off through the orgasm, as he pushed himself up, whispering affectionately to the Synthetic, who’d begun slurring Iwaizumi’s name needily over and over again. “Yeah, yeah I gotcha…” Iwaizumi purred as he finally released Oikawa’s cock, and laying out next to him. “I gotcha.”

They laid there momentarily, Iwaizumi’s arms wrapping lovingly around Oikawa, whose body was still shuddering from the stimulation. He wriggled about, slinking in close to his fiance, cheeks still rosy and glowing from the aftermath. “I know,” he sighed against Iwaizumi’s chest, making himself seem smaller so Iwaizumi could hold him. “I’ve always known.”

Iwaizumi stretched a bit, collecting the pillows that had gotten scattered during their affair to rest them behind their heads. Oikawa had always been the sort to fall asleep after he came, so it was no surprise to Iwaizumi when Oikawa’s system gave off a familiar beeping sound to indicate that he’d gone into sleep mode. So much for spending the day in bed. Iwaizumi brushed back some of Oikawa’s hair, kissing the top of his head lightly, trying to tug up some of the discarded blankets to wrap around them. Even though the past few weeks for them had been rough, this moment reassured him that things were going to be alright. That Oikawa was still his, and he was still Oikawa’s. Iwaizumi’s eyes grew heavy as he lay next to Oikawa, knowing that he could sleep easy.  Their engagement was back on, their relationship was in tact. Everything was going to be okay.

 

At least, until Iwaizumi awoke to a message from Akaashi several hours later, reading: _Fukurodani Labs has been attacked. Stay safe._

 


	13. #add8e6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life...has been much busier than I expected to be. This chapter is two months late, and it's no ones fault but my own. My schedule just wasn't syncing up with my editors, so we hadn't been able to sit down and work on this. (The chapter has honestly been finished for a month or so.) The plus side is that I have up to chapter 16 written now, so hopefully, things will be pretty smooth from this point on.
> 
> I'm proud to announce that Hot Pink has officially reached over 3,000 hits and I'm so happy to see that this. I don't really have much to say this chapter other than Happy Holidays, everyone. Christmas is next week, and I don't really celebrate but my family does. I hope all of you enjoy your holiday season. I considered doing a really dumb holiday chapter, but I couldn't really inspire myself to do that.
> 
> But on a final note, I do have a bit of an excuse as to why the delay in updates. Ah, back in October, I was in a car accident and for a couple weeks since then, I've been a little dissociative and detached from a lot of things I care about. I'm finally bouncing back, so things are going to normalize soon enough. I'm working every day of December aside for Christmas Eve and Christmas day, so wish me luck.
> 
> As always thanks to Raernix for editing. And if you wanted to hit me up at all, my twitter is @semieitas and my Tumblr is semi-eita.

The plan to remain in bed for the day had been scrapped. After receiving the message, Iwaizumi slipped out of bed and immediately began to dress. Oikawa was in no position to whine or complain, so he found himself huddled within blankets, ass still bare (and a bit tender) from their afternoon in bed. Iwaizumi’s arms slid through the rolled cuffs of his shirt, chest becoming covered again as he fastened the buttons.

“I’m coming too.” Oikawa said after a moment of studying Iwaizumi and silent contemplation. “I owe it to Akaa-chan to show up and help him if I can--”

“No, you’re staying here.” Iwaizumi ordered, fastening his belt as he jammed his foot into a shoe, still tied from kicking off earlier. “I’m not going to let you get caught up in this. There’s probably hackers loose and --”

“Hajime,” Oikawa interrupted, his voice calm and level, countering the quiver in Iwaizumi’s. (he couldn’t place it. Anxiety?) “At least let me come with you. If it’s too hairy, I’ll go back. You can protect me just so much, but face it, even with mechanical parts, I’m still human.” Oikawa sat upright and brought the blankets over his shoulders as he leaned toward Iwaizumi, his hands pressed into the mattress to keep himself up. “And humans have free will, so I’m coming with you, whether you want me to or not.”

Both of Iwaizumi’s hands pressed into his face, resting firmly over his eyes as he silently count to ten to prevent himself from turning around and snapping at Oikawa’s belligerence. “I swear to god, Kusoikawa, you’re really trying my patience --”

“And didn’t Akaa-chan tell you to be patient with me?” Oikawa asked, sitting on the bed’s edge to collect his underwear again. “What if he dies? Do you really want to go against his wishes after he dies?”

“If he dies, I don’t have to take his advice anymore.” Iwaizumi grumbled as he averted his eyes while Oikawa began to redress himself. “You’ve got three minutes. If you’re not coming in three minutes, I’m leaving you here and locking you in.”

“I can just unlock the door and leave.” Oikawa snorted as he began to squirm his way into his pants while Iwaizumi reached for his coat. “Then what?”

“I’ll think of something. Maybe I’ll have Akaashi wipe your memories again.”

“He can’t do that if he’s dead.”

“Enough dead Akaashi jokes. Two minutes.” Iwaizumi stepped from their bedroom into the living space and toward the front door. Frankly speaking, he didn’t want Oikawa there because he knew Oikawa loathed that sort of publicity. It had been something he’d discovered about Oikawa early in his days of ethical limelight. Despite Oikawa’s silent pining for attention and being noticed (by the right people) he showed signs of despising being hounded by the press. He’d revealed himself to be shyer than Iwaizumi had ever expected him to be. He would hide from paparazzi, dodge questions, look for more secluded routes home with they weren’t together.

If the two of them showed up at Fukurodani together, the media would have a field day. Not only did the most affluent lab in the country get attacked but the world’s power-couple of Synthetic research were on the scene. It would be a nightmare. The media would eat it up and come up with bullshit story after bullshit story, fabricating lies as to why Iwaizumi and Oikawa showed up at all. Sighing, Iwaizumi leaned against the door, looking at the time on his phone. If only he could get ready for work this quickly, but that wasn’t something worth busying himself with in this moment.

“Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight,” he began counting down in the same way a parent might to hurry up a procrastinating child. “You’ve got less than thirty seconds, Tooru.”  As Iwaizumi stared at his phone, a message flashed on to the screen reading: “ _Oh yes, take your time. Bokuto’s only holding up several tons of steel beams from crushing me. We’re fine._ ” It was clearly meant to be a message sent by Akaashi to reveal that he was trying to be optimistic, but Iwaizumi could never be sure with how the programmer expressed humor. “If you don’t want Akaashi to die, hurry up.”

Oikawa stumbled out of the room no less than ten seconds later, awkwardly tying a pair of canvas sneakers as he hobbled out into the hallway with Iwaizumi. Signs for the trains specified delays around Fukurodani, causing Iwaizumi to have to drag Oikawa on a bus (much to his dismay). Oikawa loathed buses almost as much as he loathed media scandals involving him. Partly because they always put him to sleep. He’d snuggled up close to Iwaizumi, resting his head on his shoulder, noting a few red marks still visible on his skin. A few people on the bus looked at them and turned to whisper to the person to their side, clearly gossiping something about “ _Oh my god, Iwaizumi and Oikawa are in public together again._ ”

Shifting, Iwaizumi slipped an arm around Oikawa’s shoulder to pull him closer. A yawn slipped free from the Synthetic, hand placed over his mouth to keep the devil from entering his body. “You gonna sleep til we get there?” Iwaizumi asked, glancing down to make eye contact with his fiance.

“Probably,” Oikawa replied, his voice low and somewhat grimy in tone. “I don’t like buses.”

His gaze pulled away, looking toward the other side of the bus, staring out the window as the buildings blurred past. It was early evening, and the last pricks of daylight were still hanging in the sky. “Yeah, I know. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

 

The bus jerked to a halt nearby the labs, but not nearly close enough to the center as it should have been. Oikawa’s eyes jerked open, a loud gasp ripping from his chest, followed by a choke of the word ‘Wait!’ before he clutched tightly on Iwaizumi’s arm to avoid falling off his seat. Iwaizumi got to his feet, gesturing to Oikawa to remain seated as he grasped the bar overhead to steady himself. From the front window of the bus, the road was visible blocked with debris and heavy smoke in the distance. The driver reached for the overhead microphone, announcing that the passengers should remain put -- but before the words could come free, Iwaizumi approached the door and shoved it open, jumping out followed by Oikawa, offering an apology to the driver as they left the bus together.

Iwaizumi had started into a run, and his phone had begun to buzz with additional messages. A few sirens were wailing -- ambulances and fire engines alike -- and Iwaizumi suddenly became aware of just how dire the situation was. He had thought that Akaashi had only been making a joke about steel beams being held up by Bokuto, but as he drew nearer to discover that the building was smouldering and alight with flames and smoke, the reality struck him. Crowds were being held back around the incinerated building, and with Oikawa’s hand clutched tightly in his own, Iwaizumi began to bob and weave through the masses. As he approached the fire fighter who blocked off the crowd, Iwaizumi fumbled and pulled out his ID badge for Seijou.

“Let me through,” Iwaizumi ordered. “I’m with Seijou’s Ethical Committee and I need to get in there to activate Synthetic backup respiratory systems.”

The fire fighters head shook as he held up his palm to Iwaizumi. “Can’t let you in, we have professionals in there already assessing the situation.”

“You don’t need a professional in there to _assess_ anything. The building is on fire and there are likely incapacitated Synthetics in there who can’t activate their backup systems. I already know one is in critical condition from a text sent from Dr. Akaashi. His lab assistant is a Synthetic who might be -- look.” He pulled out his phone to pull up the text message he’d received, only to find a very dubious look from the barricade.

“Hajime” Oikawa suddenly spoke up as he grasped Iwaizumi’s hand tighter.

“We’ve already evacuated all organic life in there. Dr. Akaashi is likely among them --”

“If he was among them --”

“Hajime!” Oikawa rose his voice again, jerking Iwaizumi’s arm to convince him to divert his gaze for a moment.

“What?!” Iwaizumi barked, clearly already getting annoyed with the situation. However, Oikawa grabbed him by the collar, offering a faint smirk before he pulled Iwaizumi in for a rather deep kiss. Even in times of crisis, celebrity couples were always news, so Oikawa kissing Iwaizumi was enough to send the crowd into a frenzy. A couple people began to cheer, and a number of cameramen filming the burning building turned to catch the two of them.

“Go.” Oikawa whispered against Iwaizumi’s lips as he pulled free, the fire fighters keeping the crowd back now having a bigger mess on their hands than Iwaizumi trying to get inside. A smile played on Iwaizumi’s lips as he offered another peck. “I have to go. I’ll see you at home.” He released Iwaizumi’s hand and immediately began to weave through the crowd. and the cluster of people around them turned to try and catch Oikawa, but he had already slipped away.

It left Iwaizumi just enough of an opening to bolt into the entrance of the Fukurodani labs.

* * *

 

The formerly pristine white marble and gold lobby of Fukurodani labs was now a mess of char and flickering flames. Iwaizumi brought his arm to his mouth to attempt to filter his breathing to avoid choking. He cursed himself, wishing he’d snagged someone's respirator before barging into the building. He was on limited time, being organic, Synthetics could likely survive in this setting if the need arose, but he’d have to make sure there were none incapacitated in the lobby before he bolted down towards Akaashi’s offices.

And no sooner past the entrance droids, was there a Synthetic laying on the floor, a glowing scarlet emergency circuit pulsing on their throat. Crouching in front of her, he recognized her -- her name was Michimiya Yui, she was one of Akaashi’s interns. She had pink circuitry from what Iwaizumi knew, and she was actively studying how to program limiters on pink behaviors. She was something of a Synthetic psychologist, but she still had a while before she would have her doctorate. If Iwaizumi wasn’t there, she’d likely never get it.

Just what sort of rescue operation was going on here? He had been told that organic life had been evacuated, so just what about the Synthetics? They were human too, weren’t they? So why were they left here in the wreckage? Did that rescue team just assume that they were capable of getting out on their own? Just because their bodies weren’t human didn’t mean the rest of them wasn’t.

He lifted her body somewhat resting her against the wall, pressing the red emergency circuit on her neck, causing a panel to open up on her throat. In flashing red letters the words “Respiration System Failed. Initiate Backup respirators? **YES NO** ” and beneath it, a small timer was ticking down. She only had four minutes of standby left before she went offline.Iwaizumi pressed **YES**. There was a flushing sound of air being released and her eyes opened, blinking wearily before coughing into her arm, and looking at Iwaizumi.

“Get out of the lobby,” he began before coughing into his sleeve. “There are paramedics outside. Your respiration system failed and you need emergency maintenance. I activated your backup system, but you’re on limited time.” He coughed into his sleeve again before stumbling to his feet, helping Michimiya up as well before showing her the direction to the exit.

He didn’t have time to waste. He’d help any Synthetics he encountered as he ventured down the hall. He found two others, one of which was still on their feet. Iwaizumi activated their backups just in case, and the other being one of the manual laborers of Fukurodani whom Akaashi usually consulted with -- Washio something.

He had to do maneuvering in order to get to Akaashi’s lab, weaving over collapsed ceiling beams that blocked the hallway from easy access. It was only when he got to the lab did he hear a _far too relaxed_ announcement of “Oh, good, he’s here. Now I won’t miss my show tonight.” Stepping into the lab, Iwaizumi found that all of Akaashi’s computers had been incinerated, as if they were the primary target of the attack and in the corner, where Oikawa had been seated a few weeks early to have his data restored, Akaashi was pinned against the wall, with Bokuto shielding his body.

“Long time no see,” Bokuto chimed, sounding _far too cheerful_ as he glanced over his shoulder. The visible eye had been knocked around and the screen was cracked with spider webbing that mimicked that of a broken computer monitor. “I can’t really see you, but as you can see me -- I kinda need to get Keiji out from underneath me before I can’t hold these beams up anymore.”

Iwaizumi stood there, coughing again into his arm, as he looked over Bokuto. The beams that had come down around him were _far too strong_ for a human to hold up, let alone a Synthetic. “...How are you holding them back?” Iwaizumi asked. “Those weigh a ton, don’t they?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Akaashi commented. “Just help lift them off Bokuto. He can shove them off if you just _help_.”

“ _Keiji_.” Iwaizumi found himself snarling as he tried to squeeze his way between Bokuto and the beams. “I’m _organic_. I can’t lift steel beams and for all intents and purposes -- Bokuto shouldn’t either!”

“You can’t?” Akaashi asked, head rocking to the side. “If I recall correctly, I fitted you with a Synthetic limb that, _get this_ , would enable you to lift more than you’re capable of.” Iwaizumis arms darted to his left arm where the pink lines of veins flickered in small dotted line patterns. “Have you considered that I’m not an idiot, and that I thought ahead to make sure that the _weaponized_ _Synthetic arm_ that I fitted you for would have enhanced limits on it? Use your head, Hajime.”

* * *

 

_“So, you’re literally going to hack off my arm.” Iwaizumi noted as Akaashi began to draw a line with marker around his shoulder. His head nodded as he capped the marker, slipping it into his pocket._

_“If you want to be crude, yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Except I don’t like getting my hands dirty, so Yuuji will be the one removing it. I’ll just be in charge of attaching it to your nervous system. So unfortunately, I will have to get a bit messy. At least it’ll be your blood, and it’s not for a terrible reason.” Akaashi hummed quietly as he shrugged off his coat and draped it on the back of his chair. “I was expecting to have to do this eventually, but I suppose it’s best we get this out of the way before things get too hairy.”_

_“What the hell are you talking about?” Iwaizumi asked as Terushima approached him, lifting Iwaizumi’s limp arm so it could rest on a table. “You expected this? What sort of crap is that?”_

_“He means that he had a feeling that someone would go after you, since you’re a celebrity and all.” Terushima commented as he began to flex each of Iwaizumi’s fingers. “Tell me if you can actually feel any of this, cause if you can we don’t have to amputate.”_

_“He expected I’d lose an arm because I’m a celebrity?” Iwaizumi snorted as he watched as Terushima curled each of his knuckles, finding the act of watching this somewhat surreal and disjointed from reality._

_“Not your arm.” Akaashi said as he sat himself down, examining a folder of paper documents. “But I did expect someone to abduct you and for you to get injured.”_

_“And you didn’t warn me -- why?” Iwaizumi barked as he pulled his gaze away from Terushima’s test._

_“Because you’re smart and I didn’t have to warn you. I mean, you’re the leading young researcher in Synthetic ethics. People aren’t going to like your stance on things. Besides, you did just announce being against Synthetic memory deletion. You’ve made some enemies, so I’d think you’d know to be careful of who you associate with.” Akaashi flipped through the document, pulling out a sheet which he handed to Terushima. “This one. Disconnect there, and there in order to optimize it.”_

_“O-of course I knew that!” Iwaizumi retorted noisily. “But I just --”_

_“Just what, Hajime? Just expected everything to go smoothly. That Tooru’s memories would restore easily, that you could go public about your thoughts regarding the matter and then be a stubborn ass, without repercussions? There are consequences to everything, Hajime. Good and bad, and in this case, your consequence is that you’re losing your arm. Just be glad that you weren’t forcibly turned into a corrupt transfer like they planned.”_

_This struck Iwaizumi who started to get up, his limp arm sliding from the table and Terushima’s busy hands. “How did you know their plan?” he asked, standing over Akaashi at his desk. “I didn’t tell you that.”_

_“Call it an educated guess. The lab you came out of was shut down for corrupted transfers, and several lawsuits after resulting loss of life due to failed transfers and thus failed human compression.” Akaashi commented pulling up a file on his computer -- which as far as Iwaizumi could tell, was in a foreign language, making it impossible for him to tell what was pulled up. “Besides, Hajime. If I didn’t guess, you were bound to tell me eventually. You did confirm my suspicions, so thank you.” He typed something out on the screen (Thai. That’s the language he was typing in), and it appeared it was actually a message bar, with a reply coming in only a second or so later._

_“What are you typing?” Iwaizumi asked, his tone becoming similar to how he spoke with Oikawa when he was misbehaving. “As your damn patient, I deserve to know.”_

_“It’s a correspondance with the surgical team for your arm. Their interns are overseeing the removal of your arm so they can learn to do it themselves.”_

_“Why is it in_ Thai _, Keiji?” Iwaizumi barked out, turning Akaashi’s chair so he could make eye contact with the programmer. “What are you fucking hiding from me?”_

_“Our surgical lead doesn’t write Japanese well. I’m writing in Thai to make it easier on her, since it’s her first language. If you’re going to get hostile with me, Hajime, I will gladly bring you back to that transfer center and see to it that you do get corrupted. Do not think that just because we’re friends that I won’t hesitate to retaliate to violence. Now if you don’t mind, please,_ sit down. _”_

_Iwaizumi, still angry but now beyond unnerved, took his seat again and let Terushima lift his arm back on to the table to continue the reflex test. “You know what’s going on,” Iwaizumi said, glancing at Akaashi who had resumed messaging the supposed surgical lead. “There’s no way that this is all coincidental at this point. Oikawa’s hacking, me getting abducted, that stitched Synthetic -- I’m being targeted.”_

_“If you want to be paranoid sure.” Akaashi said as he closed the window. “Yuuji, are any of his nerves responding?”_

_“Not a one,” Terushima said, having decided to remain quiet during Iwaizumi and Akaashi’s exchange. “He’s good to amputate.”_

_“You know, on second thought, I don’t know if I’m comfortable with someone who isn’t a licensed surgeon taking off my arm.” Iwaizumi interjected rather quickly, trying to yank his arm back toward himself._

_“I am licensed.” Terushima whined. “Just ‘cause I’m a hacker doesn’t mean I can’t remove arms...wait, hahaha. I get it. I get it!!”_

_“Yuuji, Shirofuku says that you can’t perform the amputation. She’s going to, but you’re allowed to assist.” Akaashi intervened, closing the Thai message window. “Sorry to disappoint but you’re a little reckless when it comes to delicate procedures. Need I remind you of when you assisted with my arms?” A frown became visible on Terushima’s face as his arms folded across his chest, pouting childishly._

_“C’mon, I wanna play a little. At least let me play with the arm so I can hit Iwai-kun with it and pull the whole ‘stop hitting yourself’ joke.”_

_“Maybe --”_

_“No. I’m not consenting to this. At all. It’s my arm!”_

_“It won’t be after we remove it. You’ll have a new one when you wake up.” Terushima said, laughing a bit as he wrapped a strip of elastic around Iwaizumi’s shoulder in preparation for the amputation. “You’ll be good as new, if not better! And while you’re under, Akaa-chan is gonna go ahead and get your new arm set up. It’ll be great, don’t you worry at all. You’re--”_

_“Please don’t say I’m in good hands,” Iwaizumi muttered under his breath._

_“In_ great _hands!”_

_A few moments later, a door opened and a wheelchair was pushed inside by Bokuto who gestured at it with something of a flourish. “Your chariot awaits, Iwaizumi! Don’t worry, we made sure Oikawa knows he’s not allowed to come in for the surgery!” He announced rather proudly._

_“Jesus,” Iwaizumi grunted against his hand. “Why did he stay? I told him to go home.”_

_“I guess tampered memories or not, he wanted to stick around for you. Kinda sweet, y’know! Shows he still really cares, even if he doesn’t remember everything. I’d hold on to something like that.” Bokuto huffed, almost as if he were warning Iwaizumi as he helped him sit comfortably in the wheelchair. “I know you’re capable of walking to the operating room, but they asked me to wheel you there.”_

_“Yeah. Yeah, I get it.” Iwaizumi sighed as he slumped in the chair. “Legal reasons, right?” Bokuto offered a faint laugh, and from behind him, Iwaizumi noticed as Akaashi and Terushima began walking past. “Wait, Akaashi--” he called out, his tone a little gruff as he spat the words out in an aggressive snarl._

_“What is it?” Akaashi asked from the doorway, brow raised, wearing a facade that covered up any sign that he was perturbed by their little discourse from before. “I have to meet the interns outside the operating room.”_

_“I want to know something before I go under.” Iwaizumi said hotly. “I want to know, why you seem to be involved somehow with everything that’s going on with me.” He scowled, lip curling downwards, as he found his chest aching with...no, not quite anger. It was closer to fear._

_Akaashi smiled, and let the door slide open, his lips parting as he stepped out. “I wonder, Iwaizumi Hajime. I truly, do wonder.”_

* * *

 

Iwaizumi’s hand gripped around the bottom of the steel bar, feeling it surprisingly loose in his grip. “Count of three, push it off your shoulders and I’ll lift, I guess?” he asked glancing toward Bokuto. A nod came from the partially blind Synthetic and Iwaizumi began to count. “One, two, _three_.” At three, Bokuto pushed back the same way that one would do a push up while Iwaizumi grasped the beam and pulled it free -- much to his surprise. “Holy shit,” he uttered as Bokuto gave a hoot of enjoyment.

“Feels better already! Next one!” Iwaizumi complied, grip flexing around the next beam and with another countdown, the beam was pried away. Followed by the next, and the next until the Synthetic and his handler were clear.

And with Akaashi now free from the pile of rubble, it allowed Iwaizumi the chance to learn how to use the arm he’d been given, and drove Akaashi up against the wall with a snarl. A hiss ripped from Akaashi as his head hit the wall, teeth grit and eyes squeezed shut. “Now you’re going to fucking tell me, Akaashi! Tell me why you keep getting involved in all my affairs! What the _fuck_ is going on! I _know_ you know!”

“Is now really the time?” he asked with a roll of his eyes as he reached back to rub at his head. “We’re probably about to suffocate in here, and you want answers now, yes, how brilliant. Oh, and while I’m at it: did you consider at all that I probably have a concussion and you’ve likely exacerbated it--”

“Not the time to argue guys,” Bokuto commented, quite literally lifting Akaashi and Iwaizumi from the ground. “We can argue outside, but I kind of want you both alive to argue.”

  
  


When the three of them came from the building police lights were blaring brightly at the group of them. The three Synthetics that Iwaizumi had assisted were sitting on the edge of an ambulance bumper, blankets around them with respirators plugged into their throats. The girl, Michimiya pointed at Iwaizumi, saying “He’s the one, he’s the one who turned on my respirator.” Following that, the other two were able to confirm it. Iwaizumi, now standing upright and enjoying the sweet taste of fresh air, lifted his hands as a number of cops came toward him. He knew full well that he was likely about to be arrested, but as the cops came over, it was Akaashi who stepped forward to intervene between the police officials.

He retrieved something from the pocket of his coat, revealing it the cops. There was a faint flash before he looked back to Iwaizumi, the cops now walking away. “You’re going to owe me for this, especially since I’ve been putting out my neck for you more than I need to.”

“What the hell did you just do?” Iwaizumi asked as Akaashi approached the two of them again, ushering them off to the side.

“Oh, dear, Koutarou…” Akaashi uttered as he brushed his Synthetic assistants hair back after it had fallen loose. “Your eye’s broken...what a shame, all my supplies were in that lab. I suppose we’ll have to take you to Datekou for repairs. Kaname owes me one, anyways. So I guess you’ll get some nice treatment there. We’ll get your respiratory system flushed out too. You might have to go under for a while, but you can handle that, can’t you?”

“Akaashi!” Iwaizumi barked, noticing that Oikawa was nowhere to be seen amidst the crowd which had grown in size since Iwaizumi had ventured inside. “Akaashi, we need to talk.”

“Oh, can it wait.” He replied. “Bokuto’s quite injured. Koutarou, sit will you, I need to see if those beams peeled away any of the skin on your shoulders -- oh, yes. I’m going to have to bring you to Nekoma for cosmetic work too. Ah, Hajime...I can explain some things to you, you see. But,” He rolled up the back of Bokuto’s shirt and began to press his fingers along the Synthetic’s spine, where he had geometric circuit designs in shades of pink weaving around each vertebra. “Ah, Koutarou your circuits are reverting… But ah, time of crisis. Suppose I can’t be surprised.” Akaashi looked up at Iwaizumi, his expression stern and glasses cracked. “Hajime, things will get worse if you continue to pester me for information.”

“So you _do_ know what’s going on? And what did you do to those cops anyways?! And what’s with that?! Pink?!” Iwaizumi asked, gesturing frantically toward the crowd, and then Bokuto. Akaashi stepped away from Bokuto, removing his glasses and appearing just slightly more menacing upon sliding them into his pocket. An aura came off of him that almost chilled Iwaizumi, but he remained stubborn in his desire for answers.

“I do. And it’s nothing. Just stop meddling.” Akaashi insisted. “You don’t want to get deeper, or Oikawa’s memories won’t be the only thing they target.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth opened up to retort, but Akaashi held his hand to the other organic’s lips, his index finger pressed to the soft flesh, silencing him. “In due time. But not now. Not with cameras. Not with crowds. Not _here_. Just know that the explosion started in my lab, and my computers were hit. And I was clearly the target.”

“Your research --”

“Backed up in various locations.”

“Terushima?”

“Literally tied up in my bedroom.”

“Unnecessary information, but you’re sure it’s not him?” Iwaizumi asked, shoving his hands in his pockets, still displeased about Akaashi’s lack of answers. “I’m not letting this go, you realize.”

“Of course. But if I were you, I’d look for Oikawa since well,” Akaashi gestured to the crowd. “He would’ve rushed out by now.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you know he left.” Iwaizumi growled, receiving a shrug in response. “You know why too.”

“Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t. But like I said -- we are in no position to discuss this here. I’ll let you know when it’s safe. And if I were you...I’d leave now rather than later. Those cops were only distracted long enough to give you a small escape window -- “ Iwaizumi opened his mouth again to interrupt. “Yes, I will explain later, for now, get out of here and I will contact you when it’s safe.”

In the distance Iwaizumi heard a siren ringing through the air and he took that as his cue to disappear within the crowd. Yanking his phone from his pocket he sent a text to Oikawa, demanding to know where he was so he could find him. It was as he was leaving he remembered that Oikawa had said he would meet him at home, but he couldn’t bring himself to go home alone. He had to replay what had happened. Akaashi knew something, and he couldn’t quite figure out what he was hiding. He knew something, and he knew the source that was targeting Iwaizumi. And it wasn’t the media.

 

Iwaizumi slipped into a small cafe, the sort where you order and pick it up at the end of a line of espresso machines. He ordered an americano, and paid the cashier with the tiny handful of yen he had buried in his pocket. When the drink was ready he sat himself down at a table looking out the window.

“You look worse for wear.” Iwaizumi glanced up from the coffee to see one of the interns from his office standing there. He was in a different department than Iwaizumi was in, named Yahaba Shirgeru, and was working with a psychology program with Synthetic youth adapting to the differences in growing up different from their organic peers.

“Ah, Yahaba-san.” Iwaizumi commented gesturing at the other chair. “Yeah, something like that. Had to help a friend who got caught in the accident with Fukurodani.”

“You mean Dr. Akaashi?” He asked, sitting down and setting down a cup that was some sort of sugary latte. “Yeah, it’s already all over the news. Cameras watched you being carried out by his lab assistant and --”

“Shit, I forgot to ask him why Bokuto could handle that sort of weight on him!” Iwaizumi shouted, disrupting a few people nearby, and causing Yahaba to scoot his chair back in surprise. “Ergh, sorry, Akaashi just, he’s been hiding some stuff from me, and I’m trying to get him to come clean.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Yahaba commented, sipping his drink. “You, er, you didn’t go _into_ the building, did you? I mean, I mean that facetiously. Your clothes are burned and your face is all dirty.”

“Yeah, I did. Because no one was going into the building, and there were people inside.” Iwaizumi grumbled around the rip of his drink. “The rescue team missed three incapacitated Synthetics other than Bokuto and Akaashi.”

“But isn’t Akaashi organic--”

“I’m starting to have my doubts.” Iwaizumi added as he leaned back, watching as a few police cars drove down the road. “He’s doing something that he’s going to get in trouble for I think.” He sighed. “And I want to know what it is so I can put a stop to it.”

“You know you can’t protect everyone, right?” Yahaba commented, deciding to shrug off his coat. “Kunimi tells me this all the time, that you’re constantly putting your neck out there for your interns and the people around you. You get on your boyfriends ass all the time to keep him from pushing himself but haven’t you taken the time to consider you’re pushing yourself even worse? You’re not a superhero. You’re an ethicist. You’re a hero in a different way, so you probably should remember that. The only superhumans are the soldiers in that S.E.T.T.E.R.S. organization, and I hear you can’t even call them human anymore.”

“Don’t psycho-analyze me.” Iwaizumi snorted at the other. “I’m not one of your patients.”

“But you’re one of my colleagues and you ran into a collapsing building to save five people. You’re being reckless and if I have to psycho-analyze you for being an idiot, then I will.” Yahaba offered him a smile, laughing just slightly. “Think about it. What if you died in there? Wouldn’t your boyfriend get upset? Didn’t you and he just repair his memories?”

“They’re not totally back, but, they’re close.” Iwaizumi groaned, watching as the television in the cafe flashed to a breaking news story regarding the explosion. The screen flashed: “Popular Synthetic Programmer Dr. Akaashi Keiji Suspect in Fukurodani Bombings.” to which Iwaizumi pressed his head against the table. “Jesus fucking christ, that headline better be bullshit.” Yahaba twisted around in his seat and read the title, stifling a faint laugh.

“Maybe you should’ve left him, huh?”

“No, I know what he’s doing. He’s taking the fall.” Iwaizumi grumbled as he pulled his head back from the table. “I think he knows who attacked him, and he’s trying to--”

“Wait, so the attack was on him? Why would he blow up his own lab?”

“He told me the first explosion was his computers in his lab.” Iwaizumi said. “I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but I think he knows who attacked him.” He stood up, taking another sip from his americano. “Yahaba, do me a favor...I don’t think it’ll do much, but, if someone comes in here looking for me, don’t tell them I was here.”

“Dodging the media again, huh?” he asked with something of a laugh. “Where’re you going to go.”

A message popped up on Iwaizumi’s phone, causing him to look down at the message. It was from Oikawa and it read: “Meet me at _Shiratorizawa_.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure what was going on with Akaashi, or why he was willing to take the fall for this explosion. He had a reason to take the fall for an attack that was geared toward him, and Iwaizumi knew full well that Akaashi was hiding more than just a little bit from him. He knew why Oikawa was hacked. Why he was abducted. Why his arm had to be removed.

There was so much he needed answers for. Akaashi knew. And now he was taking the fall for something so there was no chance that he would be answering anything any time soon.

* * *

 

_“Where am I…?” Iwaizumi asked sleepily as he looked around the room. Above him shone a light with several bulbs that caused him to squint. He lifted his arm, his left arm, to shield his eyes, but he found them growing wide as he saw the lines upon lines of artificial pieces that assembled his arm. Weaving through the metal bits were tubes of lights that were slowly pulsing in shades of pink. It wasn’t a real arm, but it was him. It was a Synthetic limb._

_“Oh dear,” Akaashi’s voice rang out as he stood over Iwaizumi, as he examined the fingers flexing. “Ah, that’s fantastic. It’s responding to your brainwaves. But we’ll test it more once the rest of the operation is done.”_

_“...Keiji…?” Iwaizumi asked as Akaashi offered him a smile, his hand lowering to the top of his patients head, brushing through his coarse hair._

_“You’ve woken up during the operation, Hajime.” Akaashi whispered gently, practically soothing Iwaizumi as he aimed to keep him relaxed. “You’re going to want to rest your arm back down so you don’t exhaust yourself.”_

_“...Why are there pink circuits.” he asked weakly. “My psychologist said mine would be similar to Oikawa’s…”_

_“Because I need them to be pink, Hajime.” Akaashi sat down on a stool near the operating table, continuing to comb through his hair. “I need the Synthetic part of you to be pink.”_

_“Why…” Iwaizumi asked, twisting his head to look at Akaashi who had removed his glasses, appearing calmer and sweeter than he typically was._

_“Since I doubt you’ll recall this when you wake up later, I suppose it doesn’t hurt to tell you.” Akaashi whispered, his lips in a pleasant smile. “Hajime, do you remember when Oikawa’s memories weren’t probably restored right away?”_

_“...Mm,” he affirmed as he noticed Akaashi’s hand resting on the metal interior of his new arm. “Why?”_

_“That was my fault.” He admit, partially squeezing Iwaizumi’s hand. “I needed to install something in him. And it would only work through a gradual installation over many weeks. I’m afraid I can’t say what it was, but you are not the only person he’s important to.”_

_“...Did you hurt him?” Iwaizumi groaned, trying to lift himself up, the faintest indication of anger in his voice quelled by Akaashi lacing his fingers with Iwaizumi’s in an affectionate squeeze._

_“Never in a million years.” He reassured Iwaizumi as he felt the patients head rock into his hand. “Just like I would never hurt you. Hajime, I want you to know something. You and Oikawa are very dear to me. But there are many people who want to harm me. I can’t say why, but I’m doing what I can to keep both of you safe.”_

_“...What do you mean Keiji?” Iwaizumi asked, only to wince as Akaashi withdrew his hand, only to replace it with a needle, injecting something into the Synthetic arm._

_“Just know,” Akaashi said as Iwaizumi began to feel the weight of sleep wash upon him again. “You are so much more important than you realize.”_


	14. #ff0356

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walks in about 60 days late with Starbucks.  
> Sup.  
> I had about four people message me on Tumblr asking if I'm continuing this fic.  
> And hell yes I am.  
> Me and all my beta readers were going to Katsucon so we had like ZERO time to work on this chapter.  
> So I admit that this chapter is pretty much un-edited.  
> I repeat.
> 
> This chapter is un-edited. Raernix and I will be getting to properly editing it once things settled down.  
> Katsucon was absolutely amazing, and I likely met a couple of you there if you went. I had a lovely time, and probably drank a little more than necessary. But I'm shooting for Anime Boston next, and I promise there WILL be more than one update before that con.
> 
> I'm sorry if this chapter isn't as good as you all were hoping for, but we're finally at a point where the story begins to make sense and points are being connecting.
> 
> As always guys, I love you all and I'm so honored to have your support <3

Oikawa felt Iwaizumi shift around in the bed, noticing that he was already pulling himself out from beneath the sheets that still had their combined scent soaking into the fibers. His phone was in hand, the other resting upon his forehead, grumbling to himself. Oikawa knew the look on his face; he could read Iwaizumi better than anyone else. It was why he put up with the barrages of insults because he could look at Iwaizumi and he just knew how to interpret him. But the feelings that he wore on his face was that of silent dread. When Iwaizumi was truly upset by something, he didn’t actually vocalize it. He became calmer than Oikawa had ever thought possible. Level-headed and contemplative. And that was the very look on Iwaizumi’s face as he looked at his phone. 

“Hajime,” Oikawa asked, noticing that Iwaizumi had started to get dressed again, grumbling swear words to himself as he seemed to visibly swallow the dread that was sinking in through him. “What’s going on?” He sat up in bed, tugging the blankets around himself as Iwaizumi sent a reply, pocketing his phone. Before it slipped away, Oikawa got a glimpse of the message, and opted to add his two cents. “I’m coming too, I owe it to Akaa-chan to --”

“No,” Iwaizumi replied, his voice taking on the tone it often did when he was about to yell at Oikawa for doing something characteristically stupid. “You’re staying here. There’s probably hackers loose.” Oikawa took in the words that were apparent and important, ignoring the rest of Iwaizumi’s cautionary advice. He rolled his eyes, arms crossing over his chest with something of a huff, taking Iwaizumi’s shoe that he was struggling to put on, and untying it for him. He always did things so aggressively, sometimes he needed to slow down and be gentle. Oikawa could hear the anxiety that had threaded itself through the pitches of Iwaizumi’s voice, and he leaned toward Iwaizumi, pressing himself up on the mattress. “At least let me come with you. If it’s too hairy, I’ll go back. You can protect me just so much, but face it, even with mechanical parts, I’m still human.” Oikawa sighed as he tried to offer Iwaizumi a much needed smile. “And humans have free will, so I’m coming with you, whether you want me to or not.”

When Iwaizumi pressed his hands to his face, groaning about how Oikawa was testing his patience, he concluded that he was certainly breaking him down. And though he was concerned for Iwaizumi’s mental state, he wanted to be able to join him and be there while they went to see what was going on with Akaashi at Fukurodani. It wa sa time for Oikawa to remind Iwaizumi of the patience he had to keep holding on to.

Eventually, Iwaizumi relented, allowing Oikawa the chance to come with him but he’d have to hurry. The two of them were going under some new kinds stress and although Oikawa wasn’t the best at comforting him, he figured that just being around Iwaizumi was going to be good for him. As he scrambled to get himself dressed upon Iwaizumi leaving the room for wait for him, Oikawa came to something of a conclusion. He didn’t need his memories to love the organic in the other room. There was a clearly innate love inside of him for the other man that memories or not, he would be able to access and cherish without struggle.

With all joking aside, Oikawa was able to get himself dressed again to join Iwaizumi in their approach to the train to Fukurodani. He couldn’t be sure what exactly was going on between Iwaizumi and Akaashi since his arm was replaced, but he enjoyed holding Iwaizumi’s hand since it was replaced. Synthetics had a sort of a pulse that organics couldn’t pick up on, but when Oikawa’s fingers laced with Iwaizumi’s Synthetic arm, he could feel the new kind of pulse. It wasn’t like a heart beat as it was more erratic, but it was something unique to Iwaizumi that Oikawa had found himself cherishing.

It was only when they arrived at the train station was there a giant notice overhead reading that the trains were delayed due to an emergency. Buses were still operational, and so Oikawa tugged Iwaizumi aside. He hated buses. He hated being around the media. He hated being noticed for the wrong things. And this was certainly one of those days where he was going to be exposed to so much that drove him crazy. When the bus pulled up, Oikawa watched as Iwaizumi stepped on board, making eye contact with him a moment to silently state that he realized this was the only way they would be able to get there. Iwaizumi held out his hand to Oikawa reassuringly as he stepped on the bus and sat himself down. The second he was in his seat he felt the eyes of other passengers staring down at him and Iwaizumi. His stomach knotted up, and if he were capable of vomiting he would have gladly done so all over the floor.

Iwaizumi’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him closer to him. Sighing, Oikawa rest his head upon his fiance’s shoulder, fingers finding his hand to squeeze tightly on to. “You gonna sleep til we get there?” Iwaizumi asked, brushing back some of Oikawa’s loose wisps of hair. 

“Probably,” Oikawa grumbled, his mouth feeling thick with saliva and disgust as the bus began to trudge away, his cyan eyes closing shut as he curled against Iwaizumi for comfort. “I don’t like buses.” Iwaizumi replied initially with silence before his voice echoed toward him softly.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

 

Oikawa was quick to fall asleep on buses, and even quicker so when he was next to Iwaizumi. He had no qualms putting his body in rest mode so he could ignore the motion of the bus as it rolled down the subpar paved streets. His internal programming flashed behind his eyelids with the phrase INITIATING REST MODE in glowing azure lettering before Oikawa found himself slipping away from reality.

* * *

 

And back into the room for of text boxes with messages.

Oikawa stood among the boxes, watching as they formed around him in a circle with the same message flashing on screen. “Please help.” in every box glowed and flickered in various hues and colors causing a visible spectrum to come alive around them.   
  


“What do you want?” Oikawa asked, rather hotly to the collection of messages. “How can I help you? You’re the person from Sector MG-1 right? What do you want from me!?” 

The messages spun in boxes around him before a single one stopped in front of Oikawa, hovering as the text bar flashed momentarily, words steadily appearing before him. It wasn’t short replies like Oikawa had become accustomed to in this detached section of reality. It was a legitimate paragraph, but as the words appeared, a voice began to read them aloud.

“I want you to help me escape.” The voice spoke. “I have been rendered immobile in Sector 1-MG for several years and I’ve only just become able to access the outside world. Particularly, I’ve been given access to you. And so, I must apologize for what I’ve done wrong.”

“What you’ve done wrong? What do you even mean by that?” Oikawa asked, noticing his words appearing in the text box.

“I am the cause of your memory loss. At first, I had done it maliciously, but I saw your pain afterwards --”

“Wait wait wait, are you the same guy from before? From Shiratorizawa?! The one that restored my memories for a while?!”

“Yes. I’m also the cause for their loss.” the voice added after a moment of hesitation, now sounding forlorn. “I...I think what I felt was jealousy from seeing how happy you and Iwaizumi Hajime were. I can’t properly explain my reasoning, but I know that what I had done to you was wrong. And I’d like to fix it. But in order to fix it, I need your help.”

Oikawa’s eyes narrowed, and he sat himself on the ground of the cybernetic room. “You were jealous of me and Iwa-chan, so you removed my memories? So what? To teach me a lesson? To ruin the lives of two people? And you’re asking for my help too? Isn’t that a bit much? It’s like saying oops I screwed up but help me because I deserve it. I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way.”

“I will restore the rest of those memories if you aid me.” the voice said, nearly demanding in nature. “I will restore them no questions asked. I understand that there is not much left to come back, but do you remember? Do you remember how it felt earlier to feel everything for Iwaizumi Hajime? Do you remember? How it felt. How was it to love someone with every fragment of your being? Could you tell me. Please. Could you please come to me. Please. I’ve been aching to know. To know how it feels to be enraptured, but enraged by the existence of another person. I used to know, but I’m incapable of it. I can only access memories of it, and I-- I hoped that if I could remove someone’s memories and restore them it would give me an idea of if it was possible for the restoration of memories to include the restoration of emotion. But it’s become so inconclusive. I need to know. I need to hear how it is to truly feel for a person I --”

“Oh  _ shut up _ !” Oikawa cried out, growing more and more impatient with the host of the voice. “You’re going on a tangent and I don’t understand a damn thing about what you’re talking about! Fine, fine, I’ll go there, but just. Give me coordinates or something. Talk to me when I’m awake. Let me remember these damn conversations when I get up, and I’ll do it.”

“I apologize for making you upset.” the voice said, having calmed down. “I will leave you with coordinates, but I’m afraid this is the last I can do for you until you are in a deeper sleep.”

The room Oikawa was in began to quiver and shake, many of the windows collapsing to the ground and shattering like glass. “I need your name. Or something --”

The window that had the text bar dropped to the ground as well with a shattering as well, revealing another person standing on the other side. He appeared to be hovering in place, cables attached to his arms and legs as he was held in a near-crucified pose. His entire body was alight with glowing shades of pink, circuits flickering all along the red spectrum. His head hung low, dark, almost olive-brown hair covering his face. Lifting his head slowly, his mouth parted, forming words that went unheard, perhaps a name...Perhaps something Oikawa couldn’t comprehend.

* * *

 

“Wait!” Oikawa yelled out, grasping Iwaizumi’s arm tightly to avoid falling off the seat. He realized realizing that the bus had jerked to a halt, and that the road was now blocked off. He rubbed sleepily at his eyes as he tried to make sense. A message appeared over his eyes reading “One new message.” He blinked, opening it up to find an address inside, with a specific train to take. The events from within his head were still vivid and clear to him. Not everything, but it was much less fuzzy than it had been before. Iwaizumi stood and started to head to the front of the bus, leaving Oikawa to struggle to his feet in order to join him.

“Where’re you two going, stay put!” The driver called as Iwaizumi shoved open the door, leaping from the bottom stair. Oikawa glanced about, feeling the eyes and hearing the whispers.

“So sorry, about this sir. We’ve got someone important in the wreck!” he announced, bowing apologetically at the driver before following after Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi always moved quickly when he was panicked, and so it was no surprise that Oikawa had to nearly sprint to keep up with his fiance before finally catching up to him. And when he did they found themselves amidst a crowd of people facing the smoking wreckage of Fukurodani. From the looks of it, only parts of the exterior had been damaged (likely in an initial blast) but otherwise it seemed to be in tact. However, it was clear that the emergency crew present wasn’t doing much to help anyone. Oikawa could pick up on the voices of several workers saying “There’s only Synthetics inside, its not like they’re actually people.” A flash in his mind brought back the numerous instances people had said he wasn’t a person during his youth, mothers refusing to let their children play with him, classmates laughing at his glowing wrists and collarbones -- If he had blood, it’d be boiling.

Iwaizumi tugged Oikawa through the crowd and he felt eyes upon eyes upon eyes upon him. A flutter in his chest begged him to remain calm but he was panicked -- he hated when this happened. He liked attention but he never bargained for this kind. But he endured it for Iwaizumi. He endured a lot, just as Iwaizumi did for him. He could hear more people’s voices among the crowd, it was strange. As a synthetic he’d never found himself able to pinpoint precise voices this clearly before but as he stood with Iwaizumi he could differentiate them from one another. He could locate exactly who owned each voice -- and so many of those voices had bad things to say. He had to drown them out.

“ _ You’re going to loathe me. _ ” He heard the voice in his head say. “ _ But you need them to notice you. If Iwaizumi Hajime wants in, you need to create a distraction. You can hear their voices. Prove them wrong. _ ”

Oikawa tried to tune out the voice in his head and clued in on those around him. Nasty things. Utterances of “ _ No one’s buying it anymore.”  _ and “ _ Oikawa’s so desperate to keep Iwaizumi around. Maybe he should just kill himself already. We’ll pity him more. _ ” and “ _ I’ve never seen such a fake couple. God, when will they stop _ .”

It disgusted Oikawa. He hated how people always had to comment on their relationship. Always assume they were nothing but a media sensation. The had been an item long before the media even knew who they were and there was no reason that anyone should be commenting on their life together. Oikawa brought his hands to his ears to try and drown out some of the noise -- but he quickly found that clutching Iwaizumi’s hand -- while he argued with one of the workers on crowd control -- much more relieving.

“Hajime.” he choked out, feeling his voice getting caught in his throat as the voices of commentators whispering to him echoed in his mind. He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t listening. Everything was so rapid, and horrifying and it was consuming him and he wanted it all to vanish. He wanted to disappear. He needed it all to stop. It was overwhelming as the voices trickled in and out of his ears and he processed each and every little bad notion in the atmosphere. He had to make it stop -- stop, stop stop stop stop st--

“ _ Hajime! _ ” Oikawa yelped, giving a tug to his fiances arm, to finally catch his attention. He was anxious. He needed out of there. He had something to do. Iwaizumi turned quickly, face clearly wrought with tension as he snapped in response.

“ _ What?! _ ” He shouted, giving Oikawa only a moment to react. He didn’t want to make a big scene out of it but he tugged Iwaizumi in close, pressing their lips together firmly. He had to make it flashy. Noticeable. Make everyone notice him instead of his fiance. He had to keep eyes off of Iwaizumi just long enough for him to make a break for the entrance. He could hear how the voices around him changed from displeasure at their presence, to cheers of oohs and ahs. Excited yelling for the most well known couple in the media -- Oikawa had their attention, and as he did, he broke off the kiss, offering Iwaizumi the coyest of smiles.

“Go.” He uttered against Iwaizumi’s lips as his hands lowered from his collar, nearly laughing (more from panic than amusement). “I have to go. I’ll see you at home.” Oikawa placed another delicate kiss upon Iwaizumi’s lips and pulled away, starting to weave through the crowd as people began to cheer and camera men began shouting questions at him. Luring attention away from Iwaizumi was easier than he expected it to be, but now was the matter of getting out of the mess without being cornered. 

He started to maneuver through the crowd in something of a choreographed routine that he’d become familiar over the past few years. Dodge a reporter here, slip past a fan there -- stay out of their reach and he would be just fine. 

“ _ Left. Down that alley. _ ”

Stumbling a little as he got himself into something of a jog as he turned a corner, Oikawa veered left down a rather dark alley that was actually lined with several small shops with antique looking signs. Many looked run down, or perhaps so old that they technically weren’t even in business anymore, but they all piqued Oikawa’s interest. There was no time to stop and hide in any of them, however.

“ _ Take a right. Then down the stairs. There will be a passage to one of the subway lines down there. _ ” 

Oikawa took another turn, and right before him was a rather old looking stairwell, descending into darkness with only a few lights to illuminate it. He couldn’t be sure whether he should take this route but the voice in his head quietly encouraged him. “...I feel like I’m going to get jumped.” he whispered to no one as he heard the voices of a few people behind him, asking where he’d run off to. It was enough of a tip off to Oikawa that he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the hard place sounded much more appealing as he feet pattered down each step into the dim corridor.

Along the walls, he could read (although it was grimy) signs that pointed into the distance to lead him to a nearby train stop. He recognized the station as one that he and Iwaizumi would get off if they were going to this one restaurant with not-so-good Thai food, but fantastic desserts. Oikawa felt his nerves become chilled, less anxious and now more fearful as he walked slowly through the corridor. He expected someone to come jumping from the shadows with a knife, or someone to bludgeon him over the head but he kept walking forward, using the dim wall lights and the circuits of his arms to light his way.

After several long, fearful minutes, Oikawa found the lights getting brighter as he stumbled upon the station he recognized. It was underground so not as many people were collected there, and with the recent explosion, it was even more deserted. Warning signs were flashing saying to take the railways with caution. Only a few people were standing around, none of which seemed to notice or care about Oikawa’s presence. Most seemed to be more focused on simply getting home, or to work -- or wherever they needed to be.

Oikawa settled himself down on a bench, waiting for his train, sighing into his hands with a soft utterance of “Which train am I taking?” to the voice resonating in his mind.

“ _ You’ll know when you see it. _ ”

He rolled his eyes, sinking back into the bench leisurely as he opened one of his apps and began to pull up a game of chess which he simply intended to play by himself. But upon moving a single white pawn, he found that the other side was acting without his consent. “Is that you?” he asked to the figure in his head.

“ _ Who else would it be? Your application doesn’t have a computer opponent.” _

“Are you going to keep me entertained then?” Oikawa asked as he moved a second pawn forward a single square. “I’m no good at chess, you know.”

“ _ Clearly. You’ve already left your king open and vulnerable. _ ”

Another piece was put into motion and Oikawa, as if to prove a point, moved his king out of what he suspected was harms way -- but as soon as the next turn came, the king was snatched up, leaving Oikawa to frown in disapproval. “That’s not fair. That was too quick.”

“ _ You’re not trying. Perhaps until you want to try, this would be more up your alley. _ ”

The chess application closed and a moment later, a children’s version of sudoku opened up, and Oikawa could hear the laughter of the individual who’d crept into his head. He began to protest but as soon as the words started to leave his lips the figure spoke again, closing the application. A train was pulling into the station, the front reading: Maintenance Crew Only.

_ “This is it _ .”

Oikawa glanced around, trying to make sense of the train. It wasn’t a full sized one, but instead only had two cars. It was entirely void of passengers and so he felt somewhat awkward as he approached the vehicle. The doors opened as he stepped forward, sitting himself down inside the car with a soft thud. Trains were much more bearable than buses and cars, but he still wasn’t comfortable with being on one for an extended period of time. When the doors closed an announcement in an automated voice rung throughout the car.

“Estimated ride time, one hour and twenty-six minutes.” to which Oikawa sputtered noisily to the guest in his head.

“You never said it would be this far! I would’ve brought a book if that were the case! If it was that far I wouldn’t have agreed to come out this way! What sort of guy do you take me for?!” Oikawa began to yell at himself, throwing something of a tantrum that was visible still to the people of the station.

“ _ One that would likely sleep on the way there. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to manually power you down. _ ”

“Absolutely not, I don’t give consent to th--”

* * *

  
  


Bleary eyed, Oikawa found himself stirring back to life, a little disconnected from reality due to the sudden manual power down. A voice rang in his head, requesting he wake up -- and he found the alarm to be surprisingly gentle, moreso than any whitenoise alarm he’d ever used before. Peering out the windows of the train it appeared they were above ground in a city sector that was all but abandoned. It was decrepit to say the least, as the buildings all around the slowly stopping train were crumbled, showing the distant skyline and the last glimmers of sunlight before premature night caught up.

“End of the line: Sector 1-MG.” the overhead blared, although there was a hint of a laugh, and Oikawa could clearly hear the humor from the conductor, laughing about who was dumb enough to actually disembark here.

“ _ Here. _ ” The voice in Oikawa’s head beckoned. “ _ Shiratorizawa is not far from here. _ ”

Pulling himself to his feet, Oikawa grumbled a little under his breath, smacking his lips together to wipe away the stickiness from a spontaneous nap. “This better be worth it…” He sighed lowly as he stepped past the doors of the train into the archaic looking district of the city.

_ “I assure you,” _ the voice sighed quietly, sounding rather disheartened at Oikawa’s tone.  _ “If you get any sort of satisfaction from assisting others, it will be worth it.” _

Oikawa found himself grumbling to himself as he stood on the slightly damp concrete of the long-out of use train platform. The train charged back to life and slowly began to roll off in the direction it had pulled in from, a conductor briefly making eye contact with Oikawa with a rather surprised expression, clearly not expecting someone to have been on the train in the first place. “So where to?” Oikawa asked, noticing that his signal was weak, an alert popping up in his line of vision. “It’s not like I know where to go from here.”

“ _ Leave the station,” _ the voice spoke, sounding much clearer to Oikawa despite the poor signal. “ _ Take a right once you leave, and go down that road for about a quarter mile. Shiratorizawa will be on your right. _ ”

The layout of Sector 1-MG was hardly what anyone would call picaresque. It was frankly one of the most hideous places that Oikawa had ever set foot in. Sector 1-MG was a complete nightmare: it was clearly run down and crumbling and the former skyscrapers that had once existed there had long since begun to collapse, due to either demolition or one of the recent earthquakes. It was something that Oikawa had often seen wreckage of in magazines or online, and had hoped that he would never be exposed to. Yet here he was, avoiding stepping on bits of broken debris and garbage. In the distance he heard the hissing of electricity --

“ _ Here _ .” The voice said as Oikawa stopped, glancing to see that he’d stopped in front of a door that appeared to have recently had something blocking it. “ _ Some other people in here recently left, making an escape but they could not bring me with them. If you don’t mind. _ ”

“Is, is this Shiratorizawa?” Oikawa asked quietly, noting how the sign above the door instantly lit up with a dark, glowing pink light in dated looking LED lights. “Guess so.” He said, observing the fluorescent shine of Shiratorizawa’s kanji. With a creak, the door of the front began to slide open, sliding into a recess to allow Oikawa entrance inside.

_ “When you enter, take the elevator down as far as it goes. Step out, turn left. There will be a set of stairs to your left at the end of the hallway. Take that down an additional two flights. You will find yourself in a small corridor. Turn right down the hall, there will be an elevator at the opposing end. Take that to floor B-10. You will find me.” _

Oikawa stood in front of the doorway, staring the dark hallway that the voice in his head opened up for him. Within the corridor he could see the dim, slowly pulsing emergency lights guiding Oikawa in deeper. He was still hesitant to allow himself to venture inside, but he’d already come this far. He’d already pulled up his internal phone, prepared to dial the authorities to help him -- but he remembered how the emergency team was so apt to suggest Synthetics weren’t human -- and he realized it would likely be a better move to pull up Iwaizumi’s number instead. He would actually be likely to assist him.

“ _ No one will hurt you here _ .” The voice spoke. “ _ He isn’t here. Just the others he keeps locked away _ .”   
  
Oikawa let a foot step within the hallway, watching as the floor lit up and a scanner dropped down, running a soft light over him. He jerked, body growing tense at the sudden appearance of the device.

“ _Synthetic. Aged, twenty-five years. Circuitry in code #8edbcb. OS currently up to date. Threat level: minimal. Subject may proceed._ _Welcome to Shiratorizawa Labs, visitor Oikawa Tooru._ ” Taken aback by the declaration and study of his system, Oikawa took another cautious step forward as the dark hallway became illuminated by additional soft lights, welcoming him in deeper. He walked slowly, noting how the halls of Shiratorizawa, unlike the rest of Sector 1-MG appeared to be incredibly recent and well maintained. It was clearly still in use and if the resident hiding within the lab was anything to go by -- people lived here.

“Hey,” Oikawa said softly as he tried to encourage the person in his head to talk to him. “You said something about not being able to feel anymore or something like that didn’t you?” His voice was low, as if he was whispering.

“ _ It’s true _ .” the voice added. “ _ I was transferred a long time ago and there was a malfunction. Perhaps once you come down here I can tell you the whole story. _ ”

“Why not while I’m on my way?” Oikawa snorted as he found the elevator, pressing the down button to begin his wait for the doors to open. “It’ll make this a lot less creepy for me.”

Creepy was something of an understatement, as Oikawa stood in a small room at the end of the hallway. Though the initial hallway was almost welcoming as its lights turned on, the rest of the entrance to Shiratorizawa lacked the same friendly atmosphere as that first few steps. The building itself was dimly lit, walls dark and strobing with the same soft hues of pink like one would see upon the floors of airplanes. Had it not been for Oikawa’s system adjusting to the darkness, it would’ve been nearly impossible for the Synthetic to see. His arms had squeezed around his torso, rubbing briskly at his arms, to shake off the tension.

“ _ It takes a lot for me to message you. _ ” the voice spoke quietly. “ _ I contact you while you’re asleep because it takes less energy. Would you like me conscious when you find me? Or would you rather look at me while I’m in rest mode.” _

Oikawa snorted, realizing that there was something accurate in what the prisoner several floors down was saying. “Alright, alright you’ve made your point…” he sighed as he entered the now open elevator, punching the lowest number available to ride it down.

It was a tedious trip for Oikawa to make his way down into the deep confines of Shiratorizawa. The basement trip itself was an agonizing ride, and then Oikawa had to travel down several flights of stairs and additional hallways before he finally found the final set of stairs that would then lead him to the door he was meant to go through.

Yet upon looking at the door, he found a large screen visible reading “Authorized Personnel Only: Please enter access code.” A sigh heaved from Oikawa as he rolled his eyes, a bark escaping from him.

“Hey. If you’re not going to open the door for me --”

“ _ Place your hand upon the palm scanner. _ ” He heard the voice utter softly. “ _ It will accept you _ .”

With another ounce of hesitancy, Oikawa extended his hand and rest his palm upon the reader on the side of the door. The scanner lit up in the same bright shade of pink that the walls had emitted. The aqua of Oikawa’s circuits began to glow, pulsing rapidly before (for only a split second) the back of his palm lit up in the same shade of pink.

“ _ Access Granted, welcome: Ushijima Wakatoshi _ .”

Jerking his hand back, Oikawa stared forward, somewhat dumbfounded as the locks around the door released, opening slowly. Within, Oikawa could see the room. It was dim, the walls coated in the hue of monitors surrounding the perimeter. Slowly, he stepped forward, looking over the layout of the room, noting that amidst the monitors, someone seemed to be stationed in the center. Cables, much like the ones he had seen in his dream dangled low towards the center, seeming to be hooked up to something. Someone. The monitors surrounding the center of the room pulled away, seeming to be on some robotic system to move them around at will.

In the rooms center, attached to the cables was a mirror image of the sight Oikawa had experienced in the realm of sleep. A figure, a young man with dark hair hanging in his face hung from the ceiling with cables holding him upright. Wires were sprouting from him in all directions, like vines growing upon a statue. Slowly, the figure looked up, eyes opening to reveal what almost mimicked static that was buzzing on each of the monitors.

“...Are you,” Oikawa began, approaching the individual. “Ushijima Wakatoshi?”

Blinking slowly, the figure opened his mouth, the same voice Oikawa had been hearing in his head slipping through: “I am.” he said lowly, voice hoarse. “And our time is limited.”

“There’s no way I can get you out of this.” Oikawa was quick to admit, looking him over. “You’re completely wired into these computers--”

“The building.” Ushijima corrected. “I am entirely hooked into this building and every server that can be accessed through the public or otherwise. I cannot be removed. Not now.” His spoke firmly but in such a way that Oikawa couldn’t find to be upsetting. It was the voice of a man who was at his limit and needed help, not willing to make enemies.

“So why call me here?” Oikawa scoffed quietly, stepping into the center to get closer to him. “You’re a household name. You’re the first Synthetic, and I’m looking at you -- I’ll admit that I’m shocked, but I’m not in a position to be overwhelmed. Why are you here? You said you’re a prisoner right?”

“My energy and ability to access all servers is being used against my will.” Ushijima replied quickly. “If you want the simple story: I vanished because I was rendered offline to be used as a power source. When I woke up, Sector 1-MG and Shiratorizawa shut down.”

“So why keep you here?” Oikawa asked, noticing that Ushijima had begun to smirk.

“That’s what I need you to find out for me. Todays events are no accident.” With a heavy shifting of cables, Ushijima’s arm began to move, slowly reaching out toward Oikawa, his palm outstretched and emitting a warm glow of pink. “I need you to take me with you. I must remain here, but you must bring me with you.”

“What do you mean?” Oikawa said, his eyes shifting from the static of Ushijimas to his palm.

“There is something that’s done within the military -- synchronization of the mind and soul. And I need to synchronize with you. Bring me with you. Give me access to you so I might be able to escape.”

“I know what it means to synchronize.” Oikawa retorted, grimacing as he recoiled, pulling his arms close to his body. “I don’t want to. It’s dangerous.”

“It’s dangerous if you aren’t designed to. And you, Oikawa Tooru, are designed to.” Ushijima’s tone was nearly harsh but the way he spoke brought an inspiring sort of quality to his words. “I saw to it when your memories began to restore. You are meant to synchronize, and I need you to synchronize with me. Synchronize with me to help me out of here, and I will unlock the last of your memories.”

Oikawa stared down at the hand offered to him, noting the soft, delicate pulse each light in his circuitry had. It matched that of the hallways, causing Oikawa to look around, realizing that the entire building was tied in with Ushijima’s system. He was the building. He was Shiratorizawa.

“What about me. Will I have access to all this?” Oikawa asked, looking around with flickering cyan eyes. “Will I become part of Shiratorizawa too?”

Ushijima’s head shook as his shoulder sagged momentarily. “Not without my permission.” he said. “And I will not have access to all of you without your permission either. I will remain part of your subconscious unless you need me. Aside for unlocking those remaining memories, you won’t know I’m there.”

“You swear?”

“Contrary to what people might believe,” Ushijima said. “I’m hardly a monster.”

With another moment of hesitation, Oikawa looked at Ushijima. He pitied him. He had always heard these stories about Ushijima Wakatoshi being this beacon of hope for mankind after he was successfully transferred. But here he was, before his eyes appearing to be nothing but a broken computer on its last legs, aching for some sort of reprieve from this prison of cables and wires, keeping him restrained. He was weak, and if Oikawa didn’t know any better -- he appeared to be dying.

“What about you lacking emotions?” Oikawa asked as he crouched forward to look at Ushijima’s weary face.

“You will understand once you synchronize with me…” he suggested. “If you trust me enough. Though I would not blame you--ah.”

Oikawa pressed his hand down upon Ushijima’s, feeling a sudden click within his wrist as the lights from both of their palms mingled together to create a delicate shade of violet between the two of them. In tear-drop like trickles of light along both of their arms, Oikawa and Ushijima’s eyes met momentarily -- and within Oikawa’s line of vision, he read the words: Initiating Synchronization.

* * *

 

“Where the  _ hell _ did you go?!” Iwaizumi practically snarled as he grabbed Oikawa’s hands, squeezing them tightly within his own. “You had me worried all fuckin’ night and I should’ve called the cops! What were you even thinking going off like that during a state of emergency! Do you realize how many people died --”

“No one died, Hajime.” Oikawa said quietly, his lips pursed as he tore his gaze away from his fiance, knowing he did deserve to be yelled at. “But, I’m sorry I didn’t say where I was going. It was important and...you had something to do too.”

“M-Maybe I should go --” Yahaba’s voice rang out as he stepped away from the two of them, having grabbed some dinner with Iwaizumi during his wait for Oikawa to come back from  _ whereever he went.  _

“Not yet!” Iwaizumi barked as he squeezed Oikawa’s hands in his own. “Tell him that he fucked up! Back me up here!”

“Well, he did, but he also didn’t --”

Iwaizumi jerked his hands away, grabbing at his head with a loud grunt. “Okay, that was no help, you’re gonna play devils advocate aren’t you? You’re gonna play psychologist aren’t you?”

“Well, I am --”

“Shigeru-kun,” Oikawa interrupted with a friendly smile as he opted to snatch Iwaizumi’s hand to try and settle him down. “Thank you for keeping Iwaizumi out of trouble today, but I can handle him from here. I’m sure we’ll see you soon -- tell Kyouken-chan that we say hello!” And Oikawa began to guide Iwaizumi off, ignoring the rather flustered yelp from the young psychologist, seeming to be surprised that someone had “caught on.”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi growled as he and Oikawa began the walk back to their apartment from the train station. “You better have a good excuse as to why you just up and ran off like you did earlier. Because I swear to god, if it’s something stupid I will divorce you right now.”

“We’re not even married yet.” Oikawa warned him as he twisted his neck to look at Iwaizumi with a displeased pout. “Don’t threaten that, you love me. Besides. I can’t tell you why just yet. I need to keep a secret for just a little while.”

Iwaizumi’s teeth grit tightly, nearly grinding as Oikawa continued to tug him along. “You and Akaashi both -- there’s all these fuckin’ secrets right now, and I’m getting  _ sick _ of it. Can someone at least tell me what’s going on already?!” Despite his tone, Oikawa stopped and looked at Iwaizumi with the softest of smiles, the two of them standing alone on a barren sidewalk. It was now late evening, nearing midnight and the sky had grown thick and cloudy with the threat of an oncoming rainstorm. There was a crackle of lightning, reflecting in Oikawa’s eyes as his body appeared to visibly relax.   
  
Iwaizumi glanced around, noticing the crackling around them and the way Oikawa began to carry himself. Though he was still frustrated, he definitely knew what was about to happen with Oikawa. Lightning storms often resonated with Synthetics in a funny way, sending them into something of a trance before the slipped into a sort of sleep mode that kept them functioning and active.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi said with a slight snapping of his fingers as he watched the color of Oikawa’s eyes flicker with another crackling of lightning. Oikawa seemed to have forgotten that he was speaking, causing Iwaizumi to weave around him so that he might be able to guide Oikawa back to their apartment instead. “I like when you zone out like this but can you manage to avoid letting it kick in until we get inside?” he asked, giving Oikawa a tug as he focused on another crackling of light.

But as he tugged, Oikawa didn’t go with him. Instead his hand went limp at his side, his entired body crumpling to his knees. Iwaizumi turned prepared to reprimand Oikawa for letting the electric trance hit him so easily but instead, he found Oikawa clutching his eyes, his eyes alight and glowing, static coming off of him from the interference of the storm. Standing over him, Iwaizumi looked down at his lover, mildly concerned.

“ _ It’s done _ .” A voice whispered in Oikawa’s head. “ _ The last memories have been restored _ .”

With eyes bright, Oikawa reached out to Iwaizumi who had begun to lower himself to the ground next to him as the first drips of rain began to drizzle upon them. His lips had pulled into a smile -- due to both Ushijima coming through, and the restoration of his history with Iwaizumi -- his hands rest upon Iwaizumi’s cheeks as he pulled him in for a kiss, lips curling pleasantly around his fiances, as he could only utter: “They’re back. Every last memory. They’re all back.”


	15. #ff75dd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A Hot Pink update?  
> WHAT?  
> I bet a lot of you thought I was abandoning this, huh? Naw man. Just sitting and preparing. And waiting.  
> And working 60+ hours a week. No big deal. But hey guys. We're approaching the one year anniversary of this fic (May 24th!!!!) and I figured. It's time for an update.
> 
> With some sadness, I confess that Raernix did not help edit this time around. They've been just as busy (if not moreso) than I have been and I'm not up for giving them anymore added stress. We will be touching back on this chapter later on to clean it up a little more. Both of us are a little more than busy at the moment so the fact I have a chapter ready to go after three months is pretty impressive to me.
> 
> We recently hit 4k, and we're approaching 5k, as well as 200+ kudos. So this is all really wonderful for me to get to see. A work I've spent so much time and energy on is actually blooming into something great, and even after a year. This is the first piece of fanfiction I've worked on for this long so this is truly a milestone for me.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your love and support through these endeavors. I love you all and I look forward to spending another year with you.

“Tobio,” Semi’s voice croaked out as he sank against the crumbled pavement, his hand grasping the building wall behind him. “I need to rest. Or find a working outlet or something …” he panted, breathing somewhat labored due to the energy exerted from their escape from Shiratorizawa. They had synchronized, and Kageyama had taken the exhaustion from the wearing out battery unto himself in order to help the somewhat aggressive member of S.E.T.T.E.R.S. escape with him. Breathing heavily himself, Kageyama sagged next to the older Synthetic, and held out his hand to transfer a bit more of his battery life to him. A message flashed up in front of his eyes revealing that he was now at thirty-percent. Both of them would need to find a reliable place to charge again, or at least power down for a short period to regain some strength. 

“Yeah, I know,” Kageyama said as he scanned their surroundings. According to his coordinates, they were in the north east sector of Sector 1-MG, and they were almost to one of the operational rail lines that could take them somewhere. Somewhere where they could easily hop on board and let the surface charging seats restore them. 

Ushijima had found out about Kageyama and Semi’s plans of escape. And he accepted. In the months since Kageyama’s arrival, he had discovered that Ushjima was not himself. It had been clear from the moment Ushijima had become cross with him. Though his memories were scattered, Kageyama could recall instances of Ushijima in the news -- he was quiet, polite and though a bit blunt, did not seem to harbor any means of rage or anger in him. He had known since his very first encounter with Ushijima Wakatoshi -- that he wasn’t stable.  When he discovered that two of his ow, two of his fellow prisoners within the walls of Shiratorizawa, were attempting an escape, Ushijima felt it was only fair, given his past treatment of them, to let them go. Though he was doubted at first, when he tapped into Semi’s system remotely and restored his battery long enough to give them their opportunity, it was an act of good faith that allowed the two members of S.E.T.T.E.R.S. to make a run for it. With Ushijima’s aid, he opened doors and gave instant access to the doors preventing their departure, on the condition that the two young men seek out the very Synthetic that Ushijima was communicating with in order to help him as well.

To which Semi knew he could do him one better.

“You doing alright?” Semi asked, noticing that Kageyama too seemed to be worse for wear as he stared upwards into the darkened sky. It was some time after eight in the evening and the sky had begun to crackle with light. He inhaled sharply, feeling the trickle of energy going through him from each spark of lightning.

“...We can both charge up if we find an electrical tower.” Kageyama observed, gesturing at the clouds above. The two of them had been trained in survival, both wilderness and urban. And a storm was any welcome sign to a Synthetic with a low battery.

A common occurrence with Synthetics came when electrical storms built up. It was an unexplained phenomena that struck all models of Synthetic, and nothing seemed to be able to to fix this issue. Patches simply did nothing, and after some time it had been concluded that the very root of the problem lay in the data file for the human soul. And unless mankind wanted to play god any further, it was best not to tamper with it. So it was not uncommon that Synthetics reacted interestingly when it came to electrical storms.

Something about the electrical surges within the sky caused Synthetics to become dazed, momentarily paralyzed and transfixed by the natural bursts of energy in the sky. For brief seconds, the color would drain away from their circuits, paling to shades of bright white to reflect the glowing in the clouds. It could still the very being of a Synthetic, calming them and relaxing them in such ways that normal humans could only fathom if they understood meditative states. It was impossible to avoid, and whenever a flash of lightning burst in the sky it almost acted as a soft reset on a Synthetic where it would relax them to their core and give them a jolt of energy.

In the case of Oikawa Tooru who had glanced the lightning and watched as the surge, paired with the influence of Ushijima Wakatoshi, that his memories returned.

And it was in the case of Semi Eita and Kageyama that if they were to find an electrical tower, the appropriate burst of electricity would recharge them long enough to finish their journey home.

Semi glanced up, his eyes momentarily reflecting the glint of electricity in the sky, temporarily immobilized as a chill of sorts rippled through him, reminding the mechanical parts of him that he needed the power of that spark in the sky to keep himself going. And perhaps, as if a second wind struck him, Semi had started off on foot again, beckoning Kageyama to follow after him. Before his eyes flashed the warning message of less than ten percent battery, urging him to find another power source to recharge himself.

For many Synthetics, a dying battery was the equivalent of a human being crashing after several days without sleep. It wasn’t anything to be particularly concerned about, but for Semi, it meant potential death. During his service in NUSSR, Semi had been a prime operative in the liberation of sleeper agent and civilian Synthetics, resulting in his body taking much more damage than most other war-equipped Synthetics were expected to. He jokingly called himself a tank because of this, frequently using his own body to shield others from attacks, knowing full well that he could be rebuilt time and time again. He supposed it didn’t help that during his first few weeks within S.E.T.T.E.R.S., he had had his entire skeletal structure rebuilt with reinforced steel and titanium limbs meant to withstand attacks that would still harm other Synthetic soldiers.

It was due to Semi constantly using his body as a tank and a shield that had damaged him internally that he knew would cost him one day. Too many explosions and bullets to his person had caused Semi’s internal components to rattle loose or short out, and one such thing that was shorting out was the connection between Semi’s internal battery and his entire system. As it were, that day had come where his battery had begun to drain too quickly, and his system was moving in overdrive. Frequently Semi found himself tapping into backup power reserves, and the time was coming where he could only force himself to use his backups just so much before he finally tapped out. And with that, he would likely power down and never power back on.

If a Synthetic powers down and cannot turn back on, the soul inside cannot be retrieved. In cases such as this, it’s simply the equivalent of a coma, but in such a situation, many Synthetics came to know it as Ghosting. Forever leaving the user in a state of in-operation, unable to be released to the cycle.

“Let’s go.” Semi called out as he climbed over the slowly dampening rubble as the plips of rain began to coat their surfaces, making them slick and more difficult to crawl over. Semi blinked and pulled up the timer until power-down, revealing he had just over an hour before his reserves kicked in to keep him alive until a charging station was found. Kageyama, who had already fallen behind as Semi barged off, picked up the pace to try and move along with him.

“Do you need any more charge?” He asked as he slid over a chunk of fallen building that Semi had just maneuvered over himself. “I see a tower in the distance but it looks a couple kilometers off --”

“I’m fine, Tobio.” Semi assured him, even though he wasn’t sure he believed his own limits. “I’ve gotten further with less charge before.” Of course, that was before Semi’s hardware had become faulty.

 

* * *

Oikawa’s body shook momentarily as Iwaizumi’s arms closed around him. Panic crashed down upon the ethicist as he tried to keep his fiance calm as the lightning crackled overhead. The Synthetics circuits flashed from their typical pale azure to blank white, to surprising hues of rosey pink before back to teal and blank once more. Oikawa’s hands had clutched the side of his head, yanking at his hair, his eyes squeezed shut and crinkling at the corners. He had fallen to his knees, his entire body huddled up into a fetal position as if trying to hide himself or become smaller due to something clearly seeming to weigh down on him.

“Tooru --” Iwaizumi began, trying to run his hand slowly and patiently over Oikawa’s back to try and settle him down. He couldn’t get a good look at his fiance’s face, but he was able to tell just by the way he had curled up that something was going on. Another flash of lightning crackled overhead and Oikawa’s head jerked up to reveal the practically luminescent eyes, having brightened tenfold due to the electrical interference. He stared at Iwaizumi, perhaps having forgotten that his partner had been there since the lightning began. He was disoriented, shocked even that Iwaizumi was holding close to him, trying to keep him embraced.

The brightness of his eyes dripped away before Oikawa brought his hands to his face, his lips faintly visible as they pulled into a partly hidden grin. Within his mind, he heard the voice of Ushijima Wakatoshi, reassuring him that what he had just experienced was indeed a real instance. The stress that had weighed upon Oikawa’s mind the past few weeks due to not having clear memories of the man before him, had washed away thanks to the cleaning bursts of electricity in the sky giving access for his mind to be susceptible to refreshing his memory. 

“You’re back.” He said as the pale teal color of his circuits flooded back to life, like coloring dropped into liquid in wispy clouds. Oikawa tapped the side of his head with his finger, smiling as his hands had dropped to rest on the pavement. “You’re all back in here. It’s like. . .someone put the missing pages back in. It was like --”

“Shh.” Iwaizumi said watching as Oikawa’s lips had formed into thin, delicate lines to cover the sorrowful bliss that he’d just been united with. His hands extended to rest on Oikawa’s cheeks to hold him steady for a moment as the rain began to stain the pavement beneath them a darker shade of tan. Oikawa’s lips had formed into a humorous little pout as the Organic made eye contact with him. The lights of the surrounding buildings had reflected in the aquamarine of Oikawa’s eyes, despite them being closer to monitors than actual eyes. He looked positively stupid with his face squished together, but Iwaizumi was all too pleased to see Oikawa in such a dumb state. Iwaizumi’s face relaxed for the first time in weeks, feeling as every muscle softened and his lips curled into a euphoric, adoring laugh instead. His eyes squinted and he laughed softly. “Why can’t you scoop my rice?” He asked, choking softly on his words.

“Because your sister put a bug in it when she scooped it for you when you were five.” Oikawa began, breaking into laughter at the last few words. “And you can’t trust anyone to --”

Iwaizumi didn’t need to hear anything more and he brought Oikawa’s stupid, squished face to his own, pressing his lips loving to his fiances in an embrace that captured his relief more than anything else.

Oikawa’s memories had come back. And things. . .

Still were not alright.

 

* * *

The first major advancement for Synthetic development was the means of making them waterproof. Like normal humans, Synthetics could still create odors and still get dirty enough to need to be washed. And even if they couldn’t, it wasn’t uncommon for people to enjoy taking a hot bath or shower. After all there were many recreational hobbies that included immersing oneself in water. Synthetics had to be made waterproof. And thankfully it was the first real success when creating the first waves of Synthetics.

That did not mean that there weren’t Synthetics that loathed getting wet. And Semi Eita was one of those people. As the electrical storm kicked into high gear, and Semi’s battery had flashed its five percent warning, the rain had begun coming down in buckets. And they were still about a kilometer away from the electrical tower that had been conducting electrical charges since the storm began. No cords or cable would be needed as they approached it. Simple surface charging is all they would need. And even with the rain pouring down in sheets, it promised to be the most pleasant experience either of them had experienced since returning home from the war.

Kageyama had pushed ahead of Semi, having shown to surpass his commander in water-related situations just slightly, due to not being as irritated by the presence of inclement weather. “You need some charge?” He asked Semi as he offered his hand to the first soldier of S.E.T.T.E.R.S.. “I’m at twenty-four, I can spare you some --”

“I’m  _ fine _ Tobio!” Semi snapped as he watched the percentage drop from five to four percent as his circuits brightened up in response to his jolt of anger. It didn’t pay to get angry in these situations as the more aggressive the emotion, the more battery it would suck away. “We’re almost there. . .I’ll probably be on my last percent when we get there --”

Semi had no choice, and Kageyama grabbed the S.E.T.T.E.R.S. leader’s hand and pressed his palm to it, transferring a percentage of his battery to Semi, noting the way his charge dropped beneath twenty percent. “I can survive a power-down, but  _ you _ can’t!” He announced loudly. “Keiji’ll  _ kill you _ if you die --”

Scowling, Semi narrowed his eyes at Kageyama as he jerked his hand away in displeasure. As a commanding officer, he felt obligated to let the younger soldier go ahead in the event that he collapsed, but he felt some inkling of pride as Kageyama insisted he help. He nodded, still unhappy with the others gesture, opting to act cocky in response as his battery jumped back to just under ten percent. “He can’t kill me if I’m dead --”

“Yeah, well,” Kageyama said helping his partner Synthetic crawl over the side of a collapsed building. “He’ll resurrect you just to kill you again. Or bring you back to the orphanage.”

“Don’t joke about that. You know how shitty those places are --”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kageyama snorted as he watched as his commanding officer struggled to maneuver around the particularly congested corridor of rubble. “Don’t be so dramatic or you’ll waste the battery I gave you.” He grumbled as he felt his reserves draining more from their disagreement. “I’m already beginning to drain from this conversation.” Semi took ahold of Kageyama’s arm as he squeezed his way past a broken gutter, spilling rainwater out on to the street.

“Thanks.” He said quietly, seeming to be hesitant to say what for. It was hard to tell with Semi when he expressed his feelings about something. He was often cautious when it came to showing his true colors about things, typically, as far as his peers were concerned, it had something to do with a strange struggle with his emotional capacity as a child, but the only person who seemed to know the truth behind it all was the leader behind the organization.

A smile formed proudly on Kageyama’s face as he felt the surge of confidence that it was clear both soldiers very desperately needed to keep going. “We can do this.”

 

* * *

Iwaizumi and Oikawa saw it as being similar to re-consummating their relationship as they fell into bed together when they got home. Oikawa was reminded of what it meant to really be loved by Iwaizumi Hajime. His whole body could recall every inch of Iwaizumi’s love as he held him to the bed, his arms lovingly cradling his torso as the bed rocked softly in time with them. The velveteen touches of his fingers tracing over Oikawa’s abdomen were a reminder that they had been through struggles together and those struggles would not define them as a roadblock but rather an obstacle that they could overcome.

It was as if it had been an introduction, or a preliminary trial from the universe, asking if they were ready to be married. Even after years together, were they ready to face struggles together? Would those struggles be what made or break their relationship? As it were, it would not break them. Even being stripped of his memories of his lifetime love, Oikawa was not about to become disheartened by the lack of adoration in his heart. And Iwaizumi was not about to let the universe take the object of his affections away from him.

It would add definition to their lives. But it would not be their downfall.

Oikawa lay upon his side after they finished, smiling warmly at Iwaizumi, gently brushing the crooked knuckle of his index finger over Iwaizumi’s cheek. He was blissfully relaxed and at peace with everything and this was truly one of the looks Iwaizumi adored most on his lover. A laugh, which sounded closer to a giggle, slipped past Oikawa’s lips as he bunched up the lint-coated black comforter around his chest.

“Your face looks all round and squished when you lay on your side.” Oikawa laughed sleepily as the clock over their bed revealed the time nearing midnight. They had both had quite the tiresome day, even if it had resulted in a long nap in the middle of it all. “You look very comfortable, I’d be jealous if I wasn’t comfortable too.”

“I could be comfortable anywhere s’long as you’re next to me.” Iwaizumi cooed softly as he slid in closer to Oikawa, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he adjusted to make himself seem taller than the other.

“God, Iwa-chan~” Oikawa laughed as he allowed himself to be showered in a handful of kisses. “You’re so mushy I could throw up.”

“You throw up in this bed, and the weddings off.” Iwaizumi’s voice deadpanned as he glanced toward the nightstand where his phone lay idle, the screen however, glowing brightly to announce a newly received message. He didn’t want to move from his comfortable position in the bed, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to return to the same spot in the same way. The mattress seemed to have swallowed him, cradling him and his fiance both after drowning in the sheets together, and it was a hard spot to convince himself would be there once he checked his phone.

“Check it.” Oikawa said as Iwaizumi continued his internal debate as to whether or not the message was  _ really _ important enough to lure him into removing himself from the blankets. He sighed, eyes momentarily shutting before a nod is given to affirm Oikawa’s suggestion. He utters a quick phrase of acceptance before twisting his torso around to clutch the blinking phone from the nightstand before making an attempt to return back to his previous position, now with phone in his clutches. It doesn’t quite feel the same.   
  
“It’s from Akaashi.” He says, knowing Oikawa has been just as curious about the interactions between the two of them, as what had fallen upon himself. “. . .Bastard said they let him go. No  _ actual _ evidence against him. And one security camera managed to obtain footage of him before the blasts went off. He’s free as a bird -- what the fuck.” He rest the phone upon the mattress between him and his fiance, bringing his hand to his face to rub at his eyes. “I don’t understand what the  _ fuck _ the guy is doing, Tooru. The guy’s always been kinda weird but it’s like, all of a sudden, he knows something and we’re not allowed on board. Like, I  _ get it _ that the guy works for a really prestigious lab, but they’re kind of partnered with  _ my _ line of work. What the hell’s so important that he can’t tell me?”

“Wasn’t he some sort of child prodigy?” Oikawa asks as he lifts the phone to read the most recent message. “Maybe it’s just some sort of quirk he has. Maybe he likes hiding things.” Oikawa turned off the screen of the phone, reaching over Iwaizumi to place it back on the nightstand. “Of course he’s going to hide things from you, there’s classified information at any job like his~”

“Yeah well, if that  _ classified information _ is affecting us, like he’s been letting on, I think we ought to be told why at this damn point. It’s doing more --” Oikawa raised his hand, pressing a finger to Iwaizumi’s lips, knowing himself a little something about classified information after his visit to Shiratorizawa earlier that day.

“Leave him be.” Oikawa spoke, his tone gentle, although demanding. “If it’s something that needs to be told to us, he will tell us when he’s ready. Or when he’s allowed, okay? He’s probably not keeping things from us because he wants to. Akaashi likes us. He’s gone out of his way for us, I don’t think he would be  _ intentionally _ keeping things from us without a good reason.” Iwaizumi’s mouth opened again to try and argue Oikawa’s point but it closed quickly after understanding the logic behind his fiances words. Although Oikawa had his moments where Iwaizumi would forget that he was dating someone utterly brilliant, the truth was that Oikawa Tooru was, in fact, one of the smartest people he knew. Despite his occasionally goofy demeanor.

Iwaizumi nod and sunk into the bed again, deciding the new position in the bed was acceptable, and tugged Oikawa close to him. If he had to sacrifice the perfect spot in bed, so did his fiance. It was all about sharing. His arms close around Oikawa, knowing full well that the one beneath him would fall asleep long before he did, but opted to remain in the pose anyways. “Alright, alright,” Iwaizumi sighed as he combed his fingers through the very tips of Oikawa’s hair. “I love you but it’s time to shut up and sleep now.”

And god did he  _ ever _ love him.

 

* * *

For a Synthetic with a battery near zero, resting on a charging surface was almost the equivalent of a massage. And for Semi, who had climbed to the top of the electrical box at the base of the tower, it was quite literally the best feeling of his entire life. His body splayed out along the top of the electrical power box which was humming with life from the power surges pulsating through the sky. His battery might not be able to fill entirely, but the surface charge was like a million tiny hands simultaneously rubbing and massaging every inch of his body. He paid no mind to the slight downpour from overhead, as every drop seemed the magnify each buzz of electrical current entering him, making the charge ever the more pleasant to experience.

“Oh my god, Tobio ~ “ Semi called out, noting that this was likely the first time in many months he felt legitimately happy. “Laying here? Better than sex. Better than sex in every sense of the word.”

Kageyama had opted to sit up against the electrical box, resting his back against it, allowing Semi to enjoy laying atop the eight by twelve foot structure, utilizing it as a bed. A nod came from him as he called up to Semi. “I wouldn’t know. That’s not my thing.” Semi shifted around on the top of the box and peered down at Kageyama.

“You serious? You didn’t strike me as the sort.” His hair flopped forward, damp from the various broken gutters and the overhead storm. “You just not like it or --”

“I don’t experience it. Hinata’s not much for it either.” Kageyama craned his neck, looking up at commanding officer. “We don’t need it.”

“That’s cool, I guess.” Semi said as he slunk back to his lying position. “I can’t get enough of it, and it’s been  _ ages _ . Guess I can rule you out as a quickie before we get back but, well, we both probably stink and need a shower, so forget I said anything.”

“Won’t Koushi mind --”

“We’re not really in that sort of a relationship.” Semi said. “It’s mostly out of convenience since we’ve been through a lot of the same shit. Weighing someone down who hasn’t had our experience is just asking too much. That’s why we’re. . .” Semi’s voice trailed off. “Together. I guess.”

“Do you love him though?” Kageyama asked, standing up, and beginning to climb to the top of the box to sit with Semi. “Sure always seemed like you did when we were on tour. You and he were always really close.”

Semi had gotten himself into a splayed out position on the top of the electrical box. His gaze focused on the clouds past the beams of the tower, his eyes seeming to be enhancing and zooming in past the clouds. It was as if he was trying to make out any of the stars that might be visible beyond the wisps of gas that allowed for the rain to fall from overhead. He blinked slowly, his gaze torn away as he turned his head to look at the younger soldier seated next to him. “I’m not sure what it is, to be honest.” Semi said. “Koushi and I have a different kind of synchronization that the other members of S.E.T.T.E.R.S., and I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because we were some of the first enlisted, maybe it’s ‘cause we went through the same shit at the same time, maybe it’s that we’ve both seen parts of each other that no one else has ever seen. So --” Semi turned his head to look at Kageyama who had also joined him on laying on the warm electical box. “I’m not sure what it is me and Koushi have. Whatever it is though, we’re close and I don’t think that’ll stop being a thing any time soon.”

 

* * *

Konoha Akinori was in trouble. But when wasn’t he. It was never for anything truly horrible. A bit of vandalism here and there for street art without a permit. Sometimes for getting involved in public riots for the equal treatment of pink circuited Synthetics. Without fail, Konoha Akinori was always getting in trouble for some form of self expression. But of course, it all made sense. After all, like so many others, Konoha sported a set of porcelain-pink circuits, indicating, like many others, a need for some social discourse.

He was an artist by nature. Transferred at the late age of thirteen, Konoha had been the victim of a late-in-life child transfer. Teen years were considered to be the worst age to transfer someone to their Synthetic body. But when Wakatoshi Syndrome, as well as a near fatal allergic reaction coincided, Konoha had no choice but to be instantly transferred. While the transfer was a success, Konoha was unfortunately stricken with two mishaps. Firstly, although the body was Synthetic, Konoha was still experiencing psychological reactions to the allergy. And secondly -- his parents were nowhere to be found post transfer.

Upon seeing the successful, but still comatose body of their son upon the transfer table, his veins glowing a soft hue of pink, they quickly concluded they would not be able to raise one of the mentally ill Synthetics they’d come to hear about. As he slept, papers were signed, and Konoha’s parents left their son as a ward of the state.

Something no teenager should have to experience. Especially in such a time of crisis.

When Konoha had awoken in his newly Synthetic body, sporting the pink circuits, he was quick to make heads of the situation. Glancing at the nurse who’d come to assist him, Konoha only laughed, saying: “What? They can’t handle a teenager  _ and _ pink circuits? Some parents.”

Teenagers are usually given a pass on their circuitry until puberty passes and their emotions regulate. But in the case of Konoha Akinori, his parents weren’t willing to wait to see if he evened out. Which might have been the case, had they not left. The emotional trauma that befell Konoha upon realizing he was abandoned, and not just left for treatment was enough to turn what could have been temporarily pink circuitry into a mess of emotional distress and anger.

For a period, Konoha had been left in the care of one of the Synthetic youth homes, but it was no place for someone of his caliber. With the distress, as well as the struggle of becoming a teen without familial aids to assist him, Konoha quickly decided that this was not the life for him. Streets, as he’d heard, were much more welcoming for a kid like himself. Especially one with circuits that society shamed.

It was on the streets that Konoha found himself discovering something quite unique. The streets were filled with teenagers like himself. Teens who were instantly assigned pink circuits upon transfer. Teens who were quickly abandoned by their families, knowing that they couldn’t care for their children, or rather: not wanting to. And Konoha found himself forming a home in these streets. Teens like himself who were out to prove that they weren’t anything like what society had deemed as a stigma. Teens who had a point to prove.

Teens, who, unfortunately due to the execution of these points, fulfilled the very stigma they were fighting against. Teens who had gotten Konoha to discover the pleasures of graffiti. Of protest. Of riots.

And so Konoha Akinori was always in trouble. Abandoned or a run away? No one could ever really make heads or tails of whether or not Konoha was truly a lost cause or just mixing with the crowds that had taken him in.

“What sort of satisfaction do you get from this?” Konoha nearly dropped the can he was using to spray some design on a wall of a wrist bleeding pink with the phrase “We still bleed.” written on it. “All I’m seeing is some angsty teenagers cry for help with this.”

Freezing, Konoha turned around, finding another young man -- perhaps only four years older than him (Konoha was sixteen at the time. . .that’d make this guy. Twenty? Right?) leaning against a couple of garbage cans. His hair was dark, somewhat flyaway, and his eyes piercing behind thick-rimmed glasses. He was dressed almost professionally (more like he’d just had a family dinner at an average restaurant and wanted to look nice. Not that Konoha knew the difference really.) compared to the street brat. “What do you care?” He sneered as he began to spray more of the pink “blood” coming from the wrist. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“I care because I’ve been watching you for a few days.” The young man said as he laughed a little at the display. “You do realize that Synthetics don’t actually  _ bleed _ per se. You can’t simply cut a Synthetic circuit and expect pink fluid to come spilling out. It’s gas that fills circuits and if you tear it open, the gas seeps out and becomes clear. The only fluid that comes out of a Synthetic is white hydraulic fluid. There’s no blood in you, so the message you’re conveying here? It’s inaccurate. I suppose the metaphor is there -- Synthetics are still human -- but do you really expect people in the Pinklight District to be smart enough to know that?”

Konoha was actually rather shocked at the interruption, and the fact that someone was coming up here to school him in the mechanics of Synthetic engineering. He was Synthetic and he  _ knew _ that he didn’t actually bleed, so why was this guy coming over here. His eyes narrowed as he looked over the intruder momentarily before making note -- he did recognize the guy. He’d been lurking around the district for a week or two now. He suspected for a while he was just some guy from one of the nicer sectors looking to score himself the company of a hooker for the night, but now that he was actually talking to the abandoned runaway, it clicked in Konoha’s head. The guy had been watching him.

“Fuck off.” Konoha growled as he gave the can a few shakes before returning to his work. “Most of the people living out here are Synthetics who couldn’t get work anywhere else ‘cause they’re pink. You’re Organic from the looks of it, so why would you care enough?”

“Because my siblings both have pink circuits, as did my mother and I’ve been overseeing the lifestyles of the Pinklight District.” The youth man said.

The Pinklight District, known to be the equivalent of a Redlight District, had been renamed as such due to the overwhelming number of pink circuited Synthetics that lived in the area. The last statistic at the time was that the district contained a shocking 73% of the Synthetic population in the sector with pink or violet circuits. All of which had moved out there due to an inability to find work or housing in other districts due to discrimination.

“So you’re one of those types.” Konoha sneered, deciding that he should probably ignore the guy if he kept talking. “One of those bleeding heart sorts who come to see how many fuckin’ people he can make feel better ‘cause it gives him a damn hard on. Does it get you off treating us like regular humans? Or what, you out here to promote some sort of therapy for us?”

“Why would I promote therapy when I know therapy doesn’t work?” He asked. “Therapy doesn’t work and I’m certainly not out here to get myself off. I’m here because I know the potential behind pink circuitry.”

“Fancy.” Konoha rolled his eyes, grabbing another can to shake to shade the outline of the wrist, adding some definition to it. “What? You gonna say that you want to harness the mental strength of people with pink circuits in order to harness it for some sort of organization for the betterment of Synthetic mankind?”

“Yes.”

Konoha’s hand stopped, lifting his index finger off the can, stopping to set it down on the ground before staring back at his visitor with a piercing eye. “The fuck are you on about?”

“I’m on about studying pink Synthetics as a means of revealing that the pink is a symptom of untreated mental illness or trauma, and forming an organization to show that the pink hex coding is nothing more than an indication of advanced brain activity.”

“Go on.”

And although Konoha Akinori had never completed a formal education. He was smart. He paid attention to math and science. The news. The media. He had to. After all, he was a living computer and he needed to understand himself. And how else than to study the very math and science used to compose a Synthetic.

“I’ll go on, on one condition.” The young man said as he finally stepped away from the trash cans finally, approaching the teenager. “Put down the can and come with me. I’ve seen the people you’ve been with and I can assure you of something -- law enforcement has been informed of the activity they’re involved in, and if you don’t want to see yourself in prison for the next ten years, you’ll come with me.”

“Come on, they’re just painting and protesting like me what harm can they cause --”

“National blackouts.” The young man said. “The leader of this group, he’s not just a rebel. He’s been hacking into law enforcement officials and some of the most complicated computer grids the nation has to offer and has posed a threat to national security. They’re a terrorist group, and they’re launching something if they aren’t apprehended soon --”

“No way, they’re just --”

“They’re called Johzenji, aren’t they?” The young man said firmly, cutting Konoha off. “Run by two hackers capable of breaking into other Synthetics, right? They frequently reprogram other Synthetics into doing work for them? Ring a bell?”

“I have to tell them -- how do you know this?”

The young man smirked at Konoha, glancing out to the street for a moment, a brief flash of red and blue lights reflecting in the glass window panes of the nearby shops.

“I just do. I know a lot of things, and I would hate to see a kid your age get mixed up in this sort of ordeal, so why don’t you do me a favor. Put down the can. Come with me. And I’ll see to it personally that even if they name drop you. You’ll never even have to  _ speak _ to an officer.”

Konoha Akinori was frequently in trouble. But thanks to the assistance of a single encounter, he luckily never had to see jail time for his circuitry.

 

* * *

Dawn in the abandoned sectors was always a surreal experience. When the sun peeked over the horizon for its short, visible trip along the sky, crumbled buildings became illuminated, and the decay of the abandoned district reborn anew. And with dawn and a clear sky, also came Kageyama and Semi both traversing the last kilometer before reaching the service train back to the heart of the city. The service train with its surface charging seats. And its heat. And its natural lighting. It was a luxury to imagine, and as Semi and Kageyama stepped on to the train -- they already felt like they were home.

The hour and a half or so trip went by in the blink of an eye but for the two Synthetics who had been trying to return home for quite sometime, the trip ended up lasting forever. As signs of life and civilization became clear as the train returned to the city and dipped underground now and then, as people stood on the platforms, waiting for their actual trains, it brought forth a sense of relief in the two soldiers. POWs in their own home town for a war that they weren’t even sure was real. All this time, Semi and Kageyama had essentially been prisoners, but yet they were able to leave at any time. It wasn’t necessarily Stockholm Syndrome, as far as they knew, but it was closer to the realization that they had not returned from a war zone for more than a short period in over two years.

They were soldiers.

And they were going home.


End file.
